Byron on Wells Life Along the Riverbank
by Bramblewood
Summary: Life in Narnia at peace was anything but boring. "Sometimes in the newborn night, in that narrow alley between waking and dreams, I am swept along the currents of desire to my far-off home." Come home to Byron on Wells.
1. The Club With No Name

ONE

THE CLUB WITH

NO NAME

My name was—and still is—Mountiebank Beaverlee, a rather odd name, which is why I did—and still do—go by 'Mountie'.

As a young beaver, my life was full, with much to learn and do. Yet I always had free time to "do nothing" and I did quite a bit of that.

I liked to play games, but being an only child blunted the challenge and fun. The Aspinalls lived too far away for me to play much with Rainbow and Woodrow, and I only saw the Barkbys on special holidays.

In fact I did once have a twin brother named Samuel, though I had no memories of him and my Mum and Dad's were locked away in their private cellar of pain. Yet Sam lived on in my imagination. Since he was my identical twin, I would go to a spot where the water was still and wave at my reflection. He would always wave back and that made me feel less alone. Yet I could never touch him, and for beavers touch is very important.

Then one day a chance to make friends I could touch literally fell from the sky. I was walking along Silver Creek toward town when I heard something stirring up above me. It was a couple of furlings high up in a mighty oak tree! A young fox and badger kit were occupying a platform of planks and rope nestled in the crown. My mind was awhirl!

"Hello there!" I shouted, "May I come up?"

"You're not a girl are you?" the fox shouted down. "No girls allowed!"

"Of course not!"

"Sorry about that. This is our clubhouse. You have the honor of addressing President Bramblewood Foxworth and Vice President Buckthorn Badger. But everyone just calls us Bramble and Buck.

"You mean all the other members?"

Buck Badger, said, "For now it's just us."

Bramble quickly added, "We've just started up. Had to build the tree house you know. But we're going to grow. You'll see. We'll have to build more tree houses."

My heart skipped a beat. "I'm Mountie Beaverlee! Can I join?"

"Of course!" said the badger.

"It depends," said the fox. "First you must pass the test of courage."

I knew there had to be a catch. Still it was very tempting. "What's that?"

"Come up and we'll talk about it."

"Sure!"

That was more easily said than done. They dropped down a long rope with knots tied in it. I stared at it, the way it snaked upward to the platform and twitched like a living thing. The solution seemed obvious, and as I began my ascent the first couple of knots were easy enough. Then as I gained altitude, I began to sway and gyrate and thump against the trunk of the tree. I don't know what caused that—I still don't—but regardless of what Buck and Bramble had in mind, THAT was my test of courage. I discovered to my horror that beavers are afraid of heights—very afraid.

Still loneliness pushed from below and friendship tugged from above. So up I went…up, up…paw over paw…and I began to feel victorious. Then I looked down to gauge my progress. That was a dreadful mistake.

I hung there utterly petrified, suspended in midair and unable to let go of the rope. I could neither advance nor retreat, but I certainly could not hold that grip forever.

Sensing my problem, Buck Badger did a rather brave thing. He grabbed on to the tree and attempted to shinny down by another route.

"Hold on! I'll come up behind you."

I was both grateful and embarrassed. It seemed I just spoiled my chances of being member number three.

And then Buck's hold slipped; slowly at first but then with a shriek he fell away and plunged to the ground.

"Buck!" the fox yelled.

I forgot my own dilemma and raced down the rope, hurrying over to help the badger.

"Are you all right?"

"I hope so." Buck started to sit up. "Ow! My leg!"

I moved his leg a bit to make sure it wasn't broken (it wasn't) but cringed at the crimson stain that was slowly spreading through his gray fur.

"You have a nasty cut on your shin. You'd better come home with me and let Mum patch you up."

***

Buck tried to act like it was all really nothing, but when Mum saw his bloodstained leg she came all flustered. Boys Buck's age don't like to appear sissy but they love attention when properly given and Mum knew just how to give it. She made anyone in the sweep of her kindly hazel eyes feel like the most important person in the world. At that moment Buck was the center of that attention and he rather enjoyed it.

"He saved my life," I said. Looking back on it, he probably didn't, but it felt like it at the time. "He's lucky he didn't break his neck."

She tenderly embraced the badger and kissed him. "How could I ever thank you?" she said, cuddling him. "You dear, brave boy! Bless you!"

He closed his eyes in sheer bliss. "Garn, it was nothing."

Mum lifted him onto the kitchen table. "Let's look at the leg, shall we?" She gingerly cleaned the wound on Buck's shin, using medicinal herbs to ease the sting. "Mountie does not have many friends to help him know the ropes and keep him safe," she said. "He needs someone clever like your fox friend and someone strong and brave like you to look after him. It would mean a lot to me knowing he was running with a finer sort of folk."

"Aw…that's kind of you to say, but…"

"No, I mean it." She got some sticking plaster to close the wound. "You're my hero."

She looked over at the fox pup and asked, "Bramble, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you like biscuits and tea?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"Cake too, I warrant?"

"Oh yes, ma'am!"

"Then we shall have a party to celebrate your safe return and you shall have cake, biscuits and tea!"

Her powers of persuasion were honed to a fine edge on Dad, who was a very loving but headstrong creature. There was no hope for a couple of furlings. But she never used her powers for harm, only for good. As Buck and Bramble stuffed themselves with cake till they could hardly speak, I had a feeling my gaffe in the Oak tree was forgotten and hope began to creep back into my soul.

"What is this club of yours?" Mum asked.

"They won't tell you," I said quickly. "No girls allowed."

"It's all right," Bramble said. "She's not a girl. She's your mum." He added, "We call it the _Three B Club_. You know, for Buck, Bramble and Bucky."

At once my heart leaped and I cringed. I was in the club, yet I'd been tagged _Bucky_, and I detested that name.

Mum gently but clearly frowned. "_Bucky_ sounds too much like _Buck_." She casually draped her paw on Bramble's shoulder and gave it a pat. "He goes by 'Mountie' to his friends, though that might spoil the name _Three B_. Though the name would be spoiled anyhow if you got another member…" She put a paw to her forehead, deep in thought. "I tell you what…when people ask you what your club is called, tell them it's a _secret_. That sounds more mysterious. And the secret is that _you have no name_, which means nobody could ever guess it."

The fox smiled. "Oh, I like that! It's perfect! _The Club With No Name!_"

***

While Buck and Bramble were—and still are—my friends, I took it for granted they were also my mother's new sons. Buck loved Mum nearly as much as he loved his own mother Jasmine. Bramble, whose mother Clara had died the year before, clung to her as strongly as his pride would allow. Mother was like that. She was the mud that held the sticks together, as we beavers say, and wherever she was good things just seemed to happen spontaneously. But she tended relationships the way she tended her flowers—methodically and lovingly.

That's how I joined the _Club With No Name_. There was never a test of courage and never another member, and I liked that just fine. The three of us had quite enough adventures on our own, as you shall see.

That evening I went to where the water was still. The sun was sinking low in the sky but I could still get a clear reflection. "Hello, Sam. It's me again."

I could see the melancholy look on his face, a reflection of my own mood. "I bet you can tell something is happening. Well it is. Today I made me some new friends. You'd like Buck and Bramble. They're fun to be with. Someday you'll get to meet them."

I sighed…so did Sam… "It's not that you weren't fun to be with, but you have friends in Aslan's Country that you can touch, and now I do too. Each of us ought to spend more time with them and less with each other. Don't worry, though. I'll never forget you."


	2. The Regatta

TWO

THE REGATTA

My mother Crystal Beaverlee hurried about the lodge setting out tea. It was almost break time, and she wouldn't disappoint Dad for anything.

My father came in from his labors, wiped his feet on the rush mat and went straight to his favorite chair. Mum poured his cup of tea just as he settled in.

"You are a wonder," he said, taking a sip. "Your tea is always good and hot, just the way I like it."

"Well Horace, one thing is different. Can't you tell?"

"Hmm?"

"I used a little extra arrowroot."

"Oh, so you did! What's the special occasion? Birthday?" Dad added in a slight whisper, "Forgotten anniversary?"

"Nothing like that," she said. She didn't want to say he looked a little tired from his aggressive spring-cleaning so she fudged a bit. "I know we save it for special occasions, but when you really love someone, that's special."

He smiled. "Anyone I know?"

"Someone you know rather well," she said in a dreamy voice. "Woodly Aspinall!"

He tried to keep a straight face, but a chuckle escaped him. "Garn, Crystal! You had me going there!"

Mum went to the cabinet and got him some scones from the jar. Then as he sat munching and sipping and thinking he was the luckiest fellow on the river, she stepped behind his chair, put her paws on his shoulders and began to knead the tense, aching muscles. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes! Oh, lower, lower…yes! You're my little bit of paradise, old girl. I might keep you around for a while."

"Well won't _I_ sleep better tonight!" she said, mussing the fur between his ears with a paw. "My mother warned me about bucks like you. In fact she warned me about _you_."

Suddenly, a loud rapping at the door shattered their domestic reverie. "Hullo, hullo!" That deep baritone voice could only come from one source—Bertram Otter.

Dad cringed. "It's Hurricane Bertie," he hissed. "Tell him I'm not in. Sick… dead… _anything!_"

"I can't do that," Mum said. She went to the door and opened the latch. "Well, Bertie, won't you come in?"

"Don't mind if I do, Mrs. B." He took off his cap respectfully. "My, something smells good!" He went to the table, grabbed the teapot, and took her unused cup and saucer. "Pardon my manners, ma'am. May I?"

"Sure," Mum said, ignoring Dad's dirty look. "There's plenty for all."

The otter poured out and was about to take a big sip. "_Ow!_" He dropped the delicate cup and it shattered.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I burned myself."

"That's all right," she said, subtly wringing her paws. "It's just my hand painted bone china…with the gold rim…that my mum had imported from Archenland." She collected the bits of her treasure and toweled off the floor.

"What tempest blows you this way?" Dad said, trying to conceal his irritation.

"Great news. Wonderful news! It's time for the annual regatta! But this year it's in Silver Creek Park, just a short stretch of the legs from here!" The otter grabbed a couple of scones and began to chomp noisily.

"Silver Creek Park? They always have it at Buford Creek. The water's deeper there."

"We have that figured out," he said with a mouthful of biscuit. "I was the one that suggested it to Lord Cutshaw. Old Blood-n-guts said it would be great to have it on the east bank for a change. But you'll never guess who's going to captain the Otter Team."

"You?"

"Oh, had you heard??"

"Lucky guess." Dad grabbed the last remaining scone before it could be snatched away.

Bertie put his paws together and sighed. "Bellweather is working on a new boat, a real beauty with low-slung seats and racing stripes. The foxes and badgers will be there. I think the hedgehogs are coming too, bless their souls, though they don't stand a chance. What a splendid go we'll have! And we're going to have a band and everything. And all you have to do is open the floodgates a bit. You know, just knock two or three feet off the reservoir into the lower lock so we'll have a good draft. That was my idea too. I'm full of them."

Dad gasped, and started to say something. He began to choke on the biscuit, but in the midst of his distress he pointed a wagging finger at the otter like a magician trying to conjure a particularly nasty comeback from thin air.

"He's in that state again," Mum said, ushering Bertie to the door. "Too much excitement. He'll be better in a bit but you should be going now."

"Sorry, Mr. B. I shouldn't have sprung the good news all of a sudden. Well I'll be on my way. You take care of that hacking hubby of yours."

Dad coughed, banging his fist on the table and alternatively pointing at the otter.

"Have a nice day, Bertie," Mum said, sending the otter out with a friendly but firm shove.

She then ran to her husband and patted him on the back. He coughed one loud terrible cough, drew in a deep breath, and let it out in an earth-shaking _**"NEVER!!"**_

***

Bertie took a close look at the shapely craft his otter friend Bellweather was perfecting with a few careful strokes of the drawknife. Bellie ran the local bait and tackle shop, but in his younger days he was a shipwright and would tell anyone that would listen—and a few that wouldn't—that he carved the lovely figurehead for the _Queen of the Wells_.

What had once been a large log had been sawn, adzed and shaved into as fine and dangerous-looking a craft as ever broke the waves.

Bert ran his paw over the bow. "Looking good! We'll beat the closest one by a length or more!"

"Three lengths more likely," said Bellweather. "So how did you make out with Mr. B? You'd think that was wine instead of water from the way he holds on to it. I bet he threw something."

"Oh not him! Didn't twitch a whisker. And he's so excited about the regatta he could hardly eat a bite!"

"You asked him for three whole feet? _Our_ Mr. B?"

"As I said, he didn't twitch a whisker. Horace is a bit of a plodder sometimes but still a fine, solid chap under that rough exterior. You just have to know how to ask him nicely."

Bellweather got one of his templates to check and re-check the curve of the hull. To get a good profile in the water both sides of the hull had to be smooth and perfectly symmetrical. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bertie reaching for a chisel. His eyes widened. "Hey there mate, would you run down to Melius' place and pick up some more varnish?

"Well, uh, I was hoping to get a go at the railing. It looks like fun."

"Not really fun. You know. And besides fetching the varnish is a very important job. You can't get bubbles in it or it's spoiled. You have to walk slowly and steadily. _Slowly_ _and_ _steadily_ like I showed you."

"I remember—just like the last two times. But if it will keep why don't you let me get the large size instead of sending me for small pails? You know, get it over and done and we pay less."

"Let the _other_ teams do that. I like my varnish fresh. You'll be glad of it on race day. It's a…a secret."

"But Mr. Mellius says he's never heard a thing about…"

"He can't _say_ anything. It's a _secret_, Bertie."

"Ohhh…now I get you!" He broke into a grin. "And come to think about it, I might get another glimpse of Nellie Cutshaw."

"_The_ Nellie Cutshaw?" Bellie laughed. "Don't waste your time, mate. She's out of your league."

"Garn! Look who's talking!" He began to smooth the fur on his cheeks with a paw. "There's more to life than wealth…and education."

"And manners."

Bert thought a moment. "Oy, you're pushing it, Bellie!" He chucked a towel at the fellow. "You don't know nothing. My looks ain't a gnat in your eye, and besides, she's interested in me."

"Is she now? Did she tell you?"

"Not in words. But you can read it in the way she looks at me. That girl dreams of being Mrs. Nellie Otter."

Bellweather laughed. "Wakes up screaming, no doubt." He handed Bert a silver crescent. "Go fetch the varnish, lover boy. And I don't want it shaken…or boiled."

Bert grinned and winked. "Well I won't shake it."

***

Lord Cutshaw looked grand in his jacket with a jeweled star on the lapel, a Commander in the Order of the Lion. Our Vicar, an elderly faun named Chios, bowed before him. "Your Lordship, everything is working out so well! I love the new location. Everything is right on schedule. The boats are shaping up nicely and this evening I'll pay a visit on Mr. Beaverlee to talk about the water situation."

"Splendid idea of yours, Vicar. There's nothing like a good race to get the blood up. I tell you, we're going to have regatta as good…no, better…than the ones on Buford Creek, just as sure as my name is Colonel Cutshaw."

His wife put her paw on his shoulder. "It's not Colonel Cutshaw anymore, it's Lord Cutshaw."

"Oh pshaw, I can't abide this _lordship_ stuff. I spent my best days fighting the Calormenes."

"There's nothing wrong with showing a little pride. If not for me, then think about Nellie."

Nellie, who was quite a lovely creature, laughed a very musical and carefree laugh and kissed her father on the cheek. "Colonel or Lord, it doesn't matter to me. Whatever makes you happy."

"See there, Chios?" Lord Cutshaw said, "Why mess with perfection? I say if it ain't broke, don't fix it!" He kissed Nellie on the brow and added, "Oh yes. Where was I? When I charged the Calormenes at Belhaven, I didn't do it halfway. And I'm not doing this halfway either."

As they spoke, Bertie went by, his peculiar gait attracting Lady Cutshaw's attention. "Well, would you look at that!"

"If it isn't Bertie! I wonder what he's carrying in such a strange manner."

Bertram kept his eyes locked on Nellie. The young lady finally noted his attention and waved politely. The young buck smiled broadly and winked.

Just then his perfect moment was spoiled by a large rock in the road. He took a plunge and the pail he carried dumped its load of varnish into the grass.

Nellie covered her mouth with a paw and tried very hard not to laugh. She was partly successful.

"Private Otter??" boomed Lord Cutshaw. "Still breaking things are we??"

The buck was distraught. "Ol' Bellie will kill me when he finds out! He was counting on that varnish."

"Why should he find out? Just go fetch another jar, spit spot."

"Well I have to tell him Sir...I mean…Your Lordship. I don't have any money on me for another jar and Mellius don't take credit."

"Will a silver crescent cover it?"

"Oh sir, I couldn't be taking charity. I'm poor but I'm not that bad off."

"It's not charity, Private. It's a loan—one old soldier helping another. Now take it like a good lad and be off with you. Take care this time." Lord Cutshaw smiled and nodded.

"Oh thank you! I will, Sir!"

"One of yours?" Lady Cutshaw asked.

"Yes, Daisy. He took an arrow meant for me. He's a walking disaster but well meaning, good hearted and brave as a lion."

***

Mom paced nervously. "Now Horace, when the Vicar drops in to chat with you I expect you to be reasonable."

"I'm _always_ reasonable," Dad said abruptly. "Asking for three feet off the reservoir is the _unreasonable_ bit. Do you know how much flow it takes to build back three feet?"

"Actually no," she said. "I've never had a head for figures."

"Well it's…it's…quite a lot I tell you!" He threw up his paws in frustration. "That old faun is dangerous. First he'll say something nice about the dam. Doesn't hurt to soften up a bloke. Then he'll look at you with those big brown eyes and give you that quiet voice and everything he'll say will make perfect sense, even though it's a bunch of _rot!_" He began to pace about too. "I won't fall for it, though. They'll be wanting this water when it's hot and there's no rain."

"He's an old faun and well respected. Be nice to him."

"I'm _always_ nice unless I'm provoked."

"You know _exactly_ what I mean."

"Yes, Crystal, and that's the problem. He's razzle-dazzled you, I'm willing to bet…" His thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Head's up, boys, the enemy is at the gates."

Mom opened the door. An elderly faun with a book under one arm and a pencil behind his ear respectfully touched his forehead and bowed. "Greetings, Madam."

"Why Vicar, how nice to see you again. Shall I pour you a spot of tea?"

"No, thank you kindly. There's too much going on with the regatta to linger. I do have something to ask your husband if he's well disposed."

"About as well disposed as ever," Mum said with a jovial grin. "And what may I do for you?"

"First off, I must say Horace has been hard at work. It shows. You have all the driftwood moved and the dam looks fit and proper. Congratulations are in order."

Dad nudged Mum with an elbow. "Told you."

He turned to Dad. "To come right to the point, dear friend, the water level in the lower reservoir is uncomfortably shallow. There are stumps and rocks right below the surface that could pose a real safety hazard."

"Can't they be marked?"

"Well yes, but that would make laying out a straight course much harder. I'm sure we both agree it would be better if the water was a little deeper."

Dad cleared his throat. "How little deeper?"

"If we could presume upon your good nature to grant us a mere three feet of your depth, I'm sure it would do the trick."

"A _mere_ three feet?" Dad's eyes narrowed. "_Only_ three feet??"

Mum put her paw on Dad's shoulder. "Let's hear what he has to say, dear. It can't hurt to listen."

"It already does," Dad said.

The faun took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "The water, before it was in the river was dropped from Heaven, the free gift of Aslan. That water is meant to serve us all, dear friend."

"That water _does_ serve us all, dear friend," Dad said with thinly disguised impatience. "It cools your parched throat, washes your clothes, and waters your flowers. And do you know why? Because _I worked my tail off_ to build this dam. I let water out at a rate agreed upon by the Council, catching the abundance when it rains and keeping it for the dry season. You'll be glad of it during the hot days of August."

"Yes, and we are glad of it, Mr. B. But there is time enough left in the spring for the water to get back up to its usual level. Have faith, my son—Aslan knows your needs. Trust in him and not your own devices. You work hard and that's good, but work with him and don't try to pull the load all by yourself."

"Look at these paws," Dad grumbled. "No disrespect, sir, but the Great Lion didn't pick up one bit of the garbage that drifted down the river. No sir. _These paws did_. That's what he put me here for...Horace Beaverlee. It's _him_ I try to please, not the sporting crowd."

The faun smiled gently, gave him a hug about the shoulders. "I've always admired you, Mr. B. You're a good sort and there's a special place in Heaven for hard workers like you. Just consider what I said and see if you can't spare a little water. After all, water is like people. It does a lot of work, but once in a while it doesn't hurt for it to get in a bit of fun, if you take my meaning. You could use a little fun yourself, you and the Missus. I worry about you sometimes."

"Well…" Dad reached up and patted the faun's shoulder. No matter what he said, he was always fond of Chios. "I'll give the matter some thought."

The faun smiled and nodded, and taking up his cane left quietly.

Mom went to her upset husband and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't be upset. He makes sense. You know he does, love. They had a regatta here for every year once. I'm sure if we did it before we could do it again. Now show me that smile. Come on, love, give us a smile."

He tried to keep an angry composure but he couldn't resist her charm. "Oh I hate it when you play dirty," he said, putting his arms around her. "You should be in politics, says I. All right, I'll give him two feet."

"Three feet."

"Two and a half."

She gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

"Three then, but not another inch if you boiled me in oil for it."

Everything I know about persuasion... gentle or otherwise... I learned from my mother.

***

Bertram Otter was sitting on a stool in Bellweather's workshop, longingly watching Bellie put the finishing coat on the "Victory" with some of his precious slowly carried varnish. Then he heard a noise. He nudged his companion and made a motion for silence. Then he whispered something in Bellweather's ear. Bellie smiled and winked.

"Bellweather, I get the feeling we're being watched."

"You mean spies? A couple of blighters trying to learn about the _secret weapon?_"

"That's what I think. I tell you what. I think I know where they are. On the count of three we'll rush 'em and tie them up till the regatta's over. _One…Two…THREE!!_"

Buck and Bramble dashed out from behind the tool cabinet and rushed for the door, giggling. They hurried down the road a bit and finally disappeared into the woods to hide behind a large oak.

"That was a close one," Buck said, huffing and puffing.

"What do you think they'd do if they caught us?" Bramble asked.

"You heard him. He'd throw us in the dungeon and feed us on bread and water! So did you learn the secret?"

"I sure did," the fox said with a grin. "Magic varnish. He got it from old faun Mellius. Everyone knows about him and his dark spells."

"They do?" the badger asked.

"Of course. Ask anyone."

"Bramble?" Buck said quietly, "You know what kinds of secrets we could learn?"

"I don't want to go back, Buck. They almost pinched us last time."

"Not them. We'll split up and go down by the waterfront. Ever notice how the grown ups always clam up when we're around? They talk about stuff when we're gone."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Let's find out." The young badger grinned. "Meet me in Market Square in about an hour. The one that has the best secret wins."

***

Dad sat at the picnic table, talking with his upstream neighbor Woodly Aspinall. As always happened when beavers get together, they concentrated on the two most fascinating things in the world, weather and fluid hydraulics.

"Three feet, I hear," Woodly said. "I just about fell off my chair when the Missus told me. I've never known a Beaverlee yet that would let three feet of water off the top."

"Well it was for a good cause," Dad said. "After all, it is only once a year, and they had their hearts set on a safe and fun race."

"So how are you going to make that three feet back?"

"I was hoping you'd be neighborly and give a foot or two to the cause. Goodness knows you have a nice layout and you can spare it."

"Tell you what old boy. I'll think about it. Till then have you figured out any other plans than sticking it to me?"

Dad gravely nodded. "I guess I could cut back on the nightly flow. People don't fish at night anyhow. I could boost the flow early in the morning and no one would be the wiser."

Little known to them, a young badger kit was creeping up behind a nearby tree, crawling on all fours close to the ground. He kept his head low and peeked out from behind the tree, listening carefully.

"It's like this," Dad said. "It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission."

"Oh so you have a plan?"

"Yes. I'm shutting spillway two. Instead of getting more water they'll be getting less. But it must be done. Don't tell anyone. Don't even tell Violet. I'm certainly not going to let it slip to my Crystal. She'd beat a path down to the Vicar's and have him work on me. She's a sweetheart, but she's so annoyingly by-the-book and at all the wrong moments. Between cutting back and your foot…"

"Six inches."

"Foot. Come on, Aspinall. Where's your public spirit?"

"My public spirit is six inches deep and if you push it _that_ might dry up too."

"All right, six inches…" He drew close and said in a low voice, "And remember, it's our little secret."

Buck gasped. He thought he had the biggest secret of all, but suddenly winning had lost its allure. "Mr. B's going to stop the regatta!" he thought. "I must tell Bramble!"

***

As they headed to the Beaverlee home, Buck and Bramble talked in hushed tones. "Remember," said Bramble to the badger kit, "all we're doing is looking this time. Checking out the lay of the land. If she asks us what we're up to, you know what to say."

"Nothing at all."

The fox scratched behind his ear. "Eh?"

"I'll _say_ we're up to nothing at all."

"Just checking." The fox pup added, "There's no need to get that guilty look on your face. It's the truth."

"Yes, but not the whole truth."

"You agreed to help me. After all it was you that uncovered this plot."

"I suppose so. Still, Mrs. B. is such a nice lady."

"I know. That's why we're leaving her out of it."

"I still don't see why we shouldn't tell the Vicar. He's a nice faun."

"You call _that_ leaving Mrs. B. out of it??"

When put that way, even Buck had to agree that it was not.

***

Mum was cooking over the stove when she heard the timid knock at the door. She knew at once it was not the firm pounding of Mr. Beaverlee.

She opened the door with a smile. "Well, if it isn't my favorite neighbors! Come on in! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Nothing at all!" blurted out Buck, earning him an elbow in the ribs.

"What Buck means is we were just passing by and thought we'd stop in to say hello."

"Well I'm glad you did."

She got them some milk and biscuits. And as they sat eating hurriedly as if the world were coming to an end…food in the mouth while talking and all, Bramble let it slip that he would _love_ to see how the dam worked, everything from the gates and lock to the spillway.

"I didn't know that interested a lad like you."

"Oh yes. I just love that stuff. But… well… he's been so busy with spring-cleaning that I was afraid to ask Mr. B. for a tour. Would you over mind showing us how it works?"

"I'd be delighted to. And so would my husband. You know, he seems gruff but he has a good heart and he really does love children."

"Anything you say, Mrs. B." The fox pup nudged Buck.

***

Race day had arrived. Buck and Bramble showed up with their folks, but moments later had managed to get away.

Bramble looked like he was a nervous wreck. He was. "Can I count on you, Buck? Spitshake?"

Buck nodded, spit on his paw, and grasped Bramble's paw firmly. "Seven and Nine and straight down the line."

"Well Buck, it's up to us. Now or never."

They quickly turned and hurried off along the shore.

***

Dad tugged at his new dress jacket. He felt supremely uncomfortable.

"Quit fussing with the garments," Mum said. "A grateful town made us the guests of honor, and we must accept their gifts with grace and dignity. Even if they are wool."

"Yes, wool. Even if it is hot out," he added, raising his arms a bit.

"Put your arms down, love. It won't do to be seen 'airing out' in the presence of His Lordship."

"It beats the alternative."

We were ferried out to a floating platform a few yards offshore where we would have an excellent view of the proceedings. We were seated between the nobility and Vicar Chios. Lord Cutshaw gave Dad a pat on the back and said, "Well done, Horace! You've made the day for us." It was then that the somewhat private beaver realized it wasn't the wool vest that made him uncomfortable. Still he kept his chin up and stoically endured being the center of attention with all the dignity he could muster. "It's a bit like being in a fishbowl," Lord Cutshaw added, noting his fidgeting. "I have to face my public and speak but I'd rather face a brigade of Calormen Markaans. I always knew what to say to them…and I'd say it with steel."

"I bet you never bored _them_," Dad said with a hint of a smile.

"Bravo!" the otter exclaimed, slapping him on the back. "I'll have to use that line in my next speech, Beaverlee!"

***

The crowd had hushed to listen to Lord Cutshaw. And yet there were two restless wanderers, Buck's mother Jasmine and Bramble's father Thornton. As discretely as they could, they made their way through the crowd scanning all the faces anxiously for a sign of their young ones. Many had spotted them, but no one saw them sneak off.

"It's starting soon," Thorny grumbled. "Bramble's going to miss it. _I'm_ going to miss it."

"When we find Buck," Mrs. Badger said, "Bramble can't be far behind."

"They've been acting a might strange the last two days. Lots of whispering. Those two have cooked something up and I'm going to find out what it is."

"Oh no," Jasmine said, "They're lining up already! Buck was so looking forward to this, and he's going to miss it." She nervously scratched behind her ear with a paw. "I know one thing he's _not_ going to miss when I get him home today."

"My boy too, I promise you."

***

Each of the boats went past the reviewing stand on its way to the lineup. As the otters' boat drifted by, Nellie held out her handkerchief. "Captain, carry this for luck."

"Thank you, dear lady," Bertie said, reaching out for it.

"Don't drop it," she said with a mischievous smile. "It wouldn't do."

"Not a chance," he said gallantly, before absent-mindedly trying to stick it in his vest. He thought better of it, re-folding it and putting it in his cap.

Though the otters were favored to win, the badgers did their best to look smart in their white vests and blue caps and as they passed the reviewing stand they all tipped their hats on cue and yelled, "Hip, Hip, Hurrah!"

"Bravo!" Lord Cutshaw shouted. Then he turned to Nellie and quietly confided, "You should have given the badgers your pretty token."

"But Daddy, where's the harm in cheering for our own flesh and blood?"

"That's a good luck token," her father said with a wry grin. "The badgers need it most."

"You're absolutely wicked," Nellie said, giving him a playful shove.

Oakley Badger, captain of the badger crew looked about along the shoreline for a sign. He spotted his wife and waved to her and she waved back, but he couldn't see Buckthorn. He touched near his eye and down. The message was clear. "Where's the boy?" She shrugged.

Chios looked at Dad. "You're the aquatic sort. Hard muscle, and not a bit of fat on you if I may be so bold. If the badgers and foxes can form a crew, why not the beavers?"

"We're not known for being team players," Dad answered with unusual frankness. "Well not sport teams. I must say the Missus is my other half. She completes me and I'd be lost without her." He felt her paw slip over the top of his and he reached over with the other paw to give it a pat.

Lord Cutshaw stood and hit the bell several times for silence. "Oyez, oyez! I declare this regatta open! Mr. Flag Bearer, are the crews in order?"

"Aye, sir! Lined and poised, the lot of them!"

"Then with no further ado, my lovely daughter Nellie will give the signal!"

With her eyes fixed on the otter's craft, she shouted, "Ready…set…GO!" She struck the bell a resounding smack with the mallet.

The three crews dug in with gusto, their captains calling the cadence with a sharp, regular, "Pull! Pull! Pull!"

The boats looked splendid as they traced white wakes on the choppy surface. All along the shore the spectators shouted and chanted. Some yelled "Otters, Otters!" Others chanted, "Go Badgers, Go!" The foxes were riotous and brought large red flags to wave. The majority of the folks though were just yelling, "Faster, faster!!" They were all so splendid that no one wished bad luck on any of them.

Though she tried to be ladylike, Nellie was pumping her fists yelling, "_Go Bertie, go!_"

Her mother nudged her. "Don't you mean 'Go Otters'?"

My mother was also cheering the otters. "_You can do it, lad! Go, Bertie, Go!_"

Dad tapped her shoulder. "Why are you so fond of Hurricane Bertie?"

"He promised to spend part of the purse on a new china set."

"Really??" He pumped his fists in the air. "_Come on, Bertie!_"

The boats were making their way around the turn. The badgers were having trouble coordinating their oars to round the bend. The otters, which had a substantial lead, had already gone about and were on the return leg.

On the shore one of the more sharp eared foxes stopped cheering. She asked her husband, "Do you hear that rumbling sound?"

"How can you hear a rumbling over this crowd?"

"But I _do_."

Suddenly a wave of foamy water came sweeping across the reservoir. As the spectators watched in horrified fascination, it dumped the badgers and foxes out. The otters, which were more experienced, leaned into the wave. They were ducked but came out on top.

The reviewing stand took the full brunt of the wave. It upset the stage and sent the dignitaries tumbling. Nellie, who was leaning over the edge, fell into the water.

"_Help!_" she cried. "_Somebody help me!_"

Dad, clinging to one of the pontoons, called out for his wife. Mum answered him, swimming over to his location.

Bertram Otter got the boat turned around and raced for the wreckage. As soon as he was close, he plunged into the water and in a few strokes made it to the struggling Nellie.

"Easy, girl, it's going to be all right."

"Bertie, thank Heavens!"

He did a strong backstroke, pulling her along toward a floating pontoon. "Grab on to this and I'll go back for a runabout."

She gripped a broken rope, winding a bit of it around her wrist. "Be careful," she said. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

Dad was absolutely mortified by the scope of the disaster. "All my water! It's gone! _It's all gone!_"

***

No one was seriously injured, though Buck and Bramble were still missing. Other than the reviewing stand there was little property damage.

Lord Cutshaw stood with what dignity he could muster in his dripping jacket and spoke with Bertram Otter. "You were always a brave soldier. You're still doing your duty like the best of 'em and if you were still in the service you'd get a promotion out of this. Instead I can only thank you."

"It weren't my duty. I mean, to be honest sir, I'm not made of stone. She's a handsome lass. And even though you're a Lord and I'm just a bumbling Private, I do have eyes…and a heart. There's no law against me saying she's a fine lady and that the bloke she loves will be the luckiest buck in the whole world. I may not be him, but for one brief moment I was her knight in shining armor. It felt good, Your Lordship."

Lord Cutshaw thought a moment. "I always see her as that little girl that used to chase frogs on the riverbank. I don't often think about the young lady she's become. Matter of fact it looks like she has eyes too. After all, and no offense my boy, but since when have you met an otter that can't swim?"

"But she was…she sounded so…" He thought a minute, and then smiled. "Oh!"

Lord Cutshaw patted Bertie's shoulder. "You know, Bert old boy, we're having a…." He stopped a moment. "Well, that is, the wife and I…" He scratched behind his ear uncomfortably. Bertie looked at him expectantly and slowly nodded. "Well, it's an informal get together to celebrate the regatta. A few old friends, you know. And I wonder if…"

"I'd be delighted, milord." A humble smile crossed his face. "I'll wash off right and proper and wear my best jacket. I'll be on my best behavior and I'll try not to break anything. You won't be sorry you asked, I promise you."

"You may forget about the silver crescent you owe me. You saved my Nellie, and that means more to me than all the money in the world."

Bertie left delighted. Lord Cutshaw sighed deeply. "How will I ever tell Daisy?"

***

Mr. and Mrs. Badger were working their way through the crowd looking for their son when all of a sudden one of the spectators pointed. "Over there!"

Buck and Bramble were trudging down the trail by the bank, looking very exhausted.

"Buck!" Oakley Badger cried, "Where in the world have you been??"

Thornton Foxworth went and grabbed Bramble by the shoulder. "You just _wait_ till I get you home, young pup! You had me scared out of my mind! I ought to take you behind the shed and give you such a…" He stopped, put his arms around the kit, and said, "Oh don't ever give me such a start again! You're my world, you little rascal."

The Vicar called out, "Hullo there! You, over here!"

The two families headed back to where Vicar Chios and Lord Cutshaw were standing.

"Excellent! Well met!" Lord Cutshaw shouted. "The last two accounted for! Heaven be praised!"

The Vicar said, "It's a shame you missed the excitement. I wish you'd been here."

Bramble replied vaguely, "I wish I'd been here too."

"Where were you?" the faun asked.

"Up by the Beaverlee place."

Just then Mum and Dad arrived. "How now?" Dad said. "Did you see anything? Do you know what happened?"

"No, we didn't see it happen," Bramble said quickly.

"Didn't see _what_ happen?" Lord Cutshaw asked.

Bramble looked about, a trapped expression on his face.

Just then when all appeared to be lost, Mum slapped her forehead with a paw. "Oh my goodness! I know what happened. Just yesterday Buck and Bramble were up at our place asking about how things work."

"Were they now??" Dad said, fuming. "We'll soon sort things out!"

"I'll say we will," His Lordship exclaimed. "My barge is in five pieces."

Mum said, "I showed them how the gates worked. I closed them right back but I forgot to put the pegs in to hold the handles shut." She turned to her husband. "Oh love I am _so sorry!_ Can you ever forgive me?"

"Those pegs are only a safety in case the…are you quite sure that's how it happened?" He looked at the kids and back at her.

"Buckthorn, is that how it really happened?" Mrs. Badger asked, crossly.

"Bramblewood?" Mr. Foxworth asked, "Is there something you need to tell us?"

"Mr. Beaverlee," Buck said in a trembling voice, "I…I thought the…I thought I heard…"

Bramble stood in front of him. "Sir, what he means is…he and I… Mostly me…"

"No harm done in asking questions about the workings of the dam," Mum said quickly. "It's not the only time I've given a tour, but it's the first time I didn't put things back to rights. Don't worry your little heads. We all make mistakes." She looked right up into Dad's eyes and shook her head slightly. She seemed about ready to burst into tears. "None of us are perfect, you know, but most of us mean well."

Dad looked at her, a wave of tenderness softening his angry features. He reached out and stroked her cheek gently with his paw. "I'm not so sure about that, dear. I've met some pretty perfect people in my day." He took her paw in his. "I'll talk with the Aspinalls up the river and work something out. Besides, just like the good Vicar said, Aslan knows our needs, right, Vicar?"

"That he does, my son. And he rewards the faithful."

He gave Mum's paw a little squeeze. "Well, I'd best be off. Much work to be done and tonight I'll need my tea. With arrowroot, please."

"It'll be right on schedule, piping hot, just the way you like it."

After he had gone, the young badger, his eyes misty with tears, threw his arms around his benefactor and clung to her tightly. Bramble also pressed close to her, his heart so full of love it nearly burst.

Mum comforted both of them in the warm shelter of her arms and kissed them both. "Since you missed the big show, why don't I take you over for treats, hmm?"

"No, thank you," Buck said. "Maybe later. I'm going to help Mr. B. clean up the mess."

"Me too," Bramble said.

"Such good hearted lads, the best friends I could ask for in the world." She looked up at the anxious parents. "Then the three of us be off then?"

"The four of us," Thorny said, sheepishly.

"The five of us," Mrs. Badger said, smiling, "then off to my house for stew."

"Six of us," added Mr. Badger quickly.

The Vicar put his hand on Lord Cutshaw's shoulder and gave it a pat. The august statesman looked about. "I'm not the seven of us, old boy. I'm paying for the barge, and that's more than enough."

It _was_ the seven of us. Dad never asked me to work...but then he never needed to.


	3. Making Repairs

THREE

MAKING REPAIRS

Long before we reached home from the regatta, the earthy smell in the east wind hinted at disaster. I prepared myself for what I thought would be the worst, yet when I rounded the bend and saw the devastation, it took my breath away.

Where a sparkling reservoir once glistened and reflected the blue sky were a few scattered ponds and a lazy trickling stream on a broad mudflat. All around were dead and dying fish. Downstream all the rocks wore a mantle of mud, sticks and brown foam.

Father was tugging at some large branches that blocked the sluice gates and by the time I reached him I saw where the sticks had come from. The force of the escaping water had washed out a large crater. When I stood in it, the gully was as deep as I was tall. I silently bid farewell to leisure time for the next couple of months at least and my heart sank. Even before he said it, I knew I'd be hearing Dad's usual talk about a beaver's responsibilities.

I grabbed another spot on the large branch my father was pulling and said, "On the count of three."

Dad called out the cadence, "One… two… three," and pulled in time with me. The branch came out suddenly, nearly bowling us over. But that was not what startled me as much as the weak voice that escaped dad's lips. I looked into his face and saw that his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Buck and Bramble came to help," I said, tears beginning to well up in my own eyes. "They brought their folks too. We'll get it fixed soon, I promise."

Dad looked around. A faint, wistful smile crossed his face. "I'm sure we will, son. It's going to take a while for things to get back to normal, but we'll be ready for the fall rains."

I trembled, weak in the knees. The fate of my young world hung in the balance. "When you get to know them," I said urgently, "Buck and Bramble are really nice. I'm sure that they…"

Dad rested a paw on my shoulder. "Any friends of my son are welcome here day or night. I know how lonely you were before they came along, and I'm glad they're here. It's kind of them to help out."

"Just tell us what to do."

"Maybe you can show them how to use the bow saw. I'll be too busy with the drawknife… broken gate, you know."

After realizing that my social life was not as devastated as the reservoir, I felt an urge to hug my poor father and I did hold him for a moment, luxuriating in the press of his embrace. But then he said in a low voice, "Mountie, we mustn't upset our guests. Put on your brave face and let's rise to the occasion."

I turned to face my public. "All righty now," I said in my most cheerful voice, "I'm going to make beavers out of you yet. Wood tools are your friends…take care of them and they will take care of you. The bow saw is safe when used properly…"

Behind me I heard my father's soft chuckle and a self-conscious grin crossed my face. As grim as my surroundings were, I began to realize the sun would still rise and life would go on.

***

That workday was in many ways more satisfying than the many lazy afternoons I spent in the tree house with the fox and badger. The dam and reservoir were my world, and for that one day my extended family was a part of that world. It brought us closer together then I could have imagined. I gained a whole new respect for Buck and Bramble when I saw how hard they worked. What they lacked in skill they more than made up for in effort.

And yet I could not help but notice times when Buckthorn would pause in his work and look at my father with a strange sort of urgency. And for someone that loved my mother as much as he did, Buck had a hard time meeting her eyes all that afternoon. Bramble hovered about her and was very solicitous of her, helping her bring in firewood and prepare tea.

The only conclusion I could draw was so simple and the depth of the badger's inner struggle was so obvious that I made sure to get him alone for a short talk.

"Don't tell Bramble," I confided, "but you're my best mate. I've always liked you best."

Now I knew—and it never bothered me—that Buck and Bramble were a truly inseparable pair and that I could never hope to outshine that fox in Buck's heart. Yet he answered me with a typically considerate remark. "Coming from you, Mountie, that means a lot. But I wonder if you'd feel that way, if…"

"Buck, if you ever want to talk about it, whatever you say will stay between us."

The badger met my eyes with a very intent gaze. "I don't think your mum left those pegs out of the gate. Someone somewhere must have made an honest mistake, but not your mum."

"If you tell her that, it will only make her upset."

"I know," he said, turning to his work. "I just wanted to tell you that."

From what I knew of Buckthorn Badger, he would have confessed at the Regatta if my mum had not stepped in, and perhaps it would have spared him a lot of deep anguish.

***

A week after the disaster came my birthday, which I expected would be like any other except for best wishes and a small present. Instead my mother told me the day before that I would be given a lawn party, which really struck me as odd since so much work remained to be done.

"I want you to go at once and invite your friends Buck and Bramble. And be sure to tell Buck that I'll be very disappointed if he doesn't come."

Buck, who was always underfoot at the dam, had not been around in several days. Even at my young age, I was perceptive enough to imagine the terrible secret Mum and Buck likely shared made it awkward for them to be together. Therefore when I saw him in the tree house, I made clear that I too would be deeply offended if he did not come.

He looked away, wrung his paws, and said at last, "If you insist."

When someone his age treated a party like a fearful obligation, something was amiss.

***

My mother went all out for the party, and knowing how much Buck liked sweet treats she fixed him plenty. And yet as much attention as she showed him, he was still very withdrawn and tentative. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

The "Kissing Aspinalls" came. Woodly could never show up that he didn't want to kiss my cheek and that used to irk me to no end. Mrs. Aspinall and her son Woodrow were fine guests, but to my deep embarrassment her daughter Rainbow seemed to take a special delight in planting a long wet one on my forehead and telling me I was cute. The first thing she did when she saw me was hug and kiss me.

"Aw, aren't you two the sweetest things??" Bramble said with his paws clasped together.

Not realizing he wasn't being entirely serious, Rainbow put her arm around me and said forthrightly, "Someday, I'm going to be Mrs. Rainbow Beaverlee!"

I saw the creeping grin on Bramble's face and knew I was done for. "Hey Mountie, what'cha gonna name the kids?"

I did the only thing I could do, and that was to one-up him. "I'll call my son Bramblewood and my daughter Brambalina."

I looked about to see if Buck was in on the jape, but the badger was still sulking by himself.

"What's the matter, Buck?" I asked, anxious to change the subject. "Aren't you having a good time?"

"I guess," he said, sighing deeply.

Mother saw that. After some awkward moments, she excused herself to the lodge to get the fine cake she baked. "Buck," she asked, "would you help me in the kitchen?"

"I'll help too," Bramble suggested.

"That's sweet, dear, but it's Buck's turn. You can help next time."

***

It would have seemed a long enough wait anyhow since I did not get my wish to be seated between Buck and Bramble. Rainbow was on one side of me making furtive attempts to hold my paw under the table and Woodrow was on the other side with his irritating habit of always humming the same bit of the same song eternally. But everyone became a bit worried, as several minutes passed with no Buck, no Mum, no cake. The senior Aspinalls were glancing at each other, and even Bramble got the fidgets…he always squirmed a bit when he was distracted, and though I couldn't see it, I knew he was swinging his feet in his chair.

The fox said, "You don't suppose they're eating the whole thing by themselves, do you?"

"I don't know," I said with a grin. "You know Buck has a sweet tooth." Behind the smile I wore, I was rather worried, and my seat was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Finally, I just said, "Stay here and I'll see what's up."

As discretely as I could, I headed to the lodge, opened the door with care, closed it silently, and made my way across the mudroom. And when I peeked around the doorway I saw something that made a lump rise in my throat. My mother was rocking peacefully in her favorite chair and snuggled in her warm embrace was Buckthorn Badger. There was a smile on his face, the first I'd seen since the flood.

I turned and left as stealthily as I came, a smile on my own face, secure in the knowledge that everything would be all right. Still, they were in a peaceful, bright world of their own and had lost track of time. I had to do something.

I opened the door loudly as though I had just entered. "Hey Mum, where did you go? Leave some cake for us!"

Quiet voices came from the back. Then she said, "We'll be right there! I had a little trouble with the stove."

When they finally came out with the cake, Buck was all smiles, and the awkwardness had passed like a brief spring shower. I don't know what great thing she said to him, but my mum had a unique gift for healing. No one could repair a dam like my dad, and no one could fix a stove like my mum.


	4. Good News!

FOUR

GOOD NEWS!

On Remembrance Day we give thanks for the courage and sacrifices that have protected our nation. Everywhere you go you will find celebrations. Yet it has an extra special meaning in two places: the metropolis of Cair Paravel and the sleepy town of Byron on Wells.

Cair Paravel has a splendid parade and a solemn decoration of the statues of the five great martyrs and the Pillar of Aslan, and I'm not just saying that because it's my privilege as a mage to help lead it. Still the King's parade was not the biggest thrill of my life. You see, in Byron on Wells what the proceedings lacked in grandeur they more than make up for in heartfelt, unrestrained joy. For it is from our little town the grandest of the five great martyrs came, High Mage Orbereth. "Papa Orbereth," as the badger is known, was slain because he would not bow to the White Witch and refused to crown her. A century later, the day Aslan rose alive from the Stone Table, the spirit of Papa Orbereth appeared in the streets of Byron on Wells clad in the red robes of martyrdom. He ran down the main street and climbed to the top of the bell tower to joyously proclaim, "Narnia, Narnia, He is risen!"

While each badger in Byron on Wells feels a special pride on Remembrance Day—most have some distant relation to Papa—one buck each year had the special honor of playing the Herald in Red. My best celebrations were spent waiting with the home folk to see the Herald run to the bell tower to bring the joyous news.

I will never forget one special Remembrance Day when I was a furling. It was the spring after the Great Flood…also known as the Regatta. My mother took the full blame for the washout, saying she left the pegs out of the gate locks, though no one really believed she did it. Buck and Bramble lived under a cloud of suspicion though no one could prove they were involved. Still life went on. Nobody had the will to wreak vengeance upon them, not even my folks who suffered most. Wellanites were like that, and yet I never knew just how special they were until that spring.

***

Faun Chios, our Vicar, had wonderfully expressive eyebrows and a rich voice gently cured with age and experience. The sound of it was as lovely as his harping or flute playing. He could even add dignity to a cake recipe, yet what made him beloved of all is that he never raised those eyebrows in distain or wasted that great voice on hostility. Everything he said was as honest as it was kind and appropriate, and whenever he spoke the people naturally stopped and listened.

Imagine the crowd that collected in front of the vicarage when Chios set up a table by the road and put a large lockbox on it. Everyone knew what it was, but they always enjoyed the presentation of the box as a sign of things to come, much as young furlings get excited when the banners are raised at Christmastide. In one week we would have a Herald. And though the drawing was supposedly random, the idea that Aslan would have the worthiest buck win prompted a lot of devout speculation and, I'm ashamed to say, a few side wagers.

"Hear ye, hear ye! The polling is now begun! Do not take this offer lightly, badger bucks, for Aslan knows the heart. If you are worthy, with paws clean of shame and living in peace and charity with your neighbors, write your name on a slip of paper and place it in the box. First spend time in prayer and self examination, apologize to anyone you've offended, pay your outstanding debts, forgive those who have angered you, then after you have put your name in the box say, 'May Aslan choose whom he will.' Remember that the Great Lion sees the heart and knows the mind. Lest you anger him, if there is any doubt make no application to the Lord, for he alone selects."

The standards were very high, the warning very dire, and as a result what few bucks actually went to the box took pains to do so privately. It was almost a sin to ask a badger if his name was in the box, and few people ever did. The answer given the naïve fool that did was "For shame!" Also, it was a chance to show off the only thing most Wellanites knew how to inscribe, for if you learned no other words or letters, you were expected to make the shapes that spelled your name.

I was in town with Buck and Bramble, when to my great surprise Buck went right up to the table where the box sat. He bowed his head for a bit, clasping his paws.

Bramble became quite upset. "It's not right to joke about such things," he scolded. "You'll make Aslan angry."

"I'm not joking," Buck replied, quickly scrawling his name on a paper and dropping it in the slot. "May Aslan choose whom he will."

"Do you feel worthy?" Bramble asked pointedly.

"I want to know if _Aslan_ thinks I'm worthy."

Now I was among the many who thought Buck had opened the floodgate and more to get it off my mind than to provoke him, I asked, "But do _you_ feel worthy?"

Buck replied at once so I knew he had given the matter a great deal of thought. "There's such a thing as worthy for what you have done _yesterday_, and worthy for what you plan to do _tomorrow_. I promise if Aslan picks me I'll be as worthy as I can."

I wasn't sure, but I felt there was something grand in the way Buck said it. It had the true ring of advice Vicar Chios gave and I did not press him further. "Good luck, mate."

***

As the day of the drawing approached, Buck did not act like himself. He spent very little time in play, instead running errands and performing good deeds. And every time he passed the lockbox, which was often, he would pause beside it and bow his head to whisper a short prayer. He was so intent upon being the Herald that I worried about him. I knew that his chances of being drawn were small, and his chance of being allowed to make the run was even smaller. No furling had ever submitted his name before, at least none that I knew about. I thought Buck was setting himself up for a crushing disappointment and as a good friend told him not to get his hopes too high. "Only one can be the Herald," I said, "but that doesn't mean only one is worthy."

"I need this," he answered me urgently. "I need to know that Aslan still loves me."

"Of course he still loves you. We _all_ still love you."

"You heard the Vicar. Aslan sees the heart and knows the mind. You can hide from everyone else but not from him."

"What are you hiding?"

"You're a good friend, Mountie. And if you were anyone else's son I would tell you."

"Oh," I said. "That."

"Yes, that."

In his own way, Buck had told me all I needed to know. To see him so miserable almost broke my heart, but being bucks and being old enough to put on airs of maturity it would have been too "sissy" to hug him. Oh but I wanted to. If I had it to do over again, I would have.

***

The sudden change in Buck made his folks wonder what had come over him. He was always a kind and courteous child but Oakley Badger was worried that his son was not being a furling and enjoying this young time of his life, and his mother struggled for an excuse to get his well-meaning but untrained paws out of her kitchen.

On the day of the drawing, Buck was in such a state of nervous agitation that I talked Bramble into staying by me so we could both offer the poor badger moral support if… when… he lost.

As the crowd gathered, it was clear who had put their names in. The furlings all wanted to be up close to see, but behind them were the buck badgers that entered, trying not to look too conspicuous but wanting a good view. Everyone else stood back farther and pretended not to notice. Those were the manners in Byron on Wells, and I still think a few folk in Cair Paravel could learn something from them.

Faun Chios emerged from the vicarage, took the golden key from around his neck and said, "Great Lion, who knows the minds and hearts of all, choose us a Herald." He lowered the key, placed it in the lock and turned it.

Looking away, he reached into the box and took a paper. He turned back to face the crowd and said, "And this year's most fortunate of badgers, our Herald in Red is…Buckthorn Badger."

"That's me!" Buck ran up.

Chios looked a bit taken aback. "You?"

"Yes sir!"

Tears of relief began to stream down his Buck's face and before Chios could suggest that a mistake had been made he felt compassion welling up in his heart. "You really want this, don't you son?"

"He still loves me," Buck stammered. "I love you too, Aslan…"

Chios tried to regain his composure. "Do you accept the honor offered you by the Son of the Most High?"

"I do."

Bramble and I began to clap and then there was sporadic applause, especially from those who ran the betting pools and made out well in an upset, mostly everyone glanced at everyone else. His parents seemed most surprised of all and when they saw everyone looking at them they looked like they wanted to shrink away to nothing and dive into the nearest anthill.

***

That night Oakley took his son outside to sit with him in the meadow. He lay back in the grass and looked up at the bright stars. "I come out here sometimes when I have big problems to think through. It clears my mind."

"You have a big problem, Dad?"

"No, but I'm afraid this Herald thing is going to become your big problem. Accepting this honor was a brave and laudable thing to do, but passing on it can also be a brave and laudable thing."

"Why, Dad?"

"Because you are so young. You need to know more about life and your heritage to get the full benefit out of making the run. It is not an adventure and it's not a game. It's not like you are acting in a play."

"But Dad…"

"Let me finish, son. What the Herald does is become Papa Orbereth to the people of Byron on Wells. He inspires them to be nobler and seek Aslan in their hearts. He gives them courage to do what must be done. He will also give you courage to do what you must do."

"But Aslan chose me."

"Perhaps."

"Dad, I prayed about it before I put the paper in. I must have prayed a hundred times after. Aslan hears our prayers doesn't he? I said I wanted him to be proud of me and to know that I love him. That's all I really wanted, but now that he's picked me, it's my job. I can't tell the Vicar that Aslan made a mistake, can I? I've tried so hard to be worthy. Really I have. And I'll keep on being worthy, I promise!"

"Son, you don't have to give up being a child to be worthy. We love you and Aslan loves you just as you are. You don't have to be the Herald in Red just to be loved. Even I have never been the Herald. Do you think that makes me unworthy?"

"Oh no, Dad!" He hugged his father. "Did you put your name in? I wouldn't try to beat you, you know."

"No, son. I took the responsibility very seriously. I had an argument with Old Took and was too proud to admit I was wrong. So I didn't try for it."

"I'm not perfect, but I am sorry for the things I've done and anything I can fix I will. Nobody is perfect, Dad, but some people are sorry about it and they get forgiven. Look at Edmund. He was a traitor and Aslan died for him. What I did wasn't quite so bad, but still…I needed a sign."

It was too dark to see Buck's tears, but Oakley could hear the soft heaving sound of badger sobbing. "My poor boy! I didn't realize…" He put his arms around his son and held him tightly. "If you're ever in trouble, you can come to me. You'll make a splendid herald, and your mother and I will be so proud of you. We already are."

***

The chair Buck sat in at the Vicarage was comfortable but he was on the edge of it with anticipation. Chios emerged from the storage room with a red robe draped over one arm and Buck quickly stood. "May I touch it?"

"You may wear it," Chios said with a pleasant smile. "Paws over the head, please."

Buck complied and he trembled a bit as the crimson cloth slid over him, settling about him till he looked like the stub of a used red candle. On one level it spoke volumes about the size of what he was getting into, and yet that moment of privilege pushed all self-doubt from his mind. He reverently ran his paws over the gold lion stitched over the heart and the words "Orbereth Magnus"

"We will have to make you another one," Chios said with a smile, but one eyebrow did raise independent of the other. He was clearly deep in thought. "So," he added, "how does wearing this make you feel?"

"Happy," Buck said, his paw idly fondling the gold lion again.

"What do you know about Orbereth, son?"

Buck recited a poem that all furlings memorized in Byron on Wells:

"_Orbereth stood for what was true_

_And gave his life for me and you_

_He would not to The Traitor bow_

_Nor place the crown upon her brow _

"_With paws unbound and head held high_

_He marched to where the lowly die_

_He shed no tears for his demise_

_But tears for children filled his eyes _

"_Four comrades died before he fell_

_To shun the lie he would not tell_

_Then Orbereth was last to fall_

_He kept the faith and died for all"_

"Ah yes," Chios said, stroking his beard. "Such a tidy legend. But it leaves so much untold."

"There's more?"

"Oh yes. My grandfather knew Orbereth. He used to tell me stories about him."

"Wow!"

"Well Buckthorn, Orbereth was never aloof or self-righteous. No matter how high he rose he never forgot us Wellanites. He was wise and funny, and very patient. Very courageous, but also…and you must understand this…_he was afraid_." Chios averted his eyes.

"But I thought…"

"He was brave, Buckthorn, but bravery does not mean a lack of fear. It means you do what you must do despite your fear. He was going on to the Stone Table to die horribly and watch his best friends die with him, and he knew the White Witch would not make their death an easy one. Grandfather saw him when he was no older than you being led to his execution. He could sense his fear. He wanted to run up to hug him but the badger waved him off, for it would have meant his death. Orbereth looked at him and wept."

"Just like the poem says. He cried for the children."

"He cried for my grandfather, son, but what he said was not for tender ears. 'Save yourself. Live to fight another day, my son. I am done for.' He had such defeat in his eyes, such sorrow. He was afraid that Aslan had turned his back on him. He tried to work the Deep Magic. He thought if he suffered enough that Aslan would have pity on us all. But he was uncertain of himself. He doubted his own purity and innocence. It was his last tormenting thought as he lay there dying, calling out for Aslan. That's how he died son, begging Aslan for forgiveness. Such a waste!"

"Oh my!" Buck's chin trembled. "But he was the greatest of the five martyrs!"

"I know. My dear son, the depth of his suffering is what made him so great. Not the knife, but the keen awareness that none of us measure up to the Great Lion. Not even Orbereth could earn Aslan's love. It had to be freely given."

Buck looked down. "I know how he felt."

The old faun asked gently, "Tell me Buck, how did he feel?"

Buck said quietly, "He wanted Aslan to love him. He was sorry he couldn't stop the White Witch. Sorry for meaning well and trying his best but failing anyway."

The faun lifted Buck's chin and peered into his eyes. "Orbereth did feel guilty. He thought it was his fault that the Tree of Protection died and the White Witch spoiled his nation."

"Will Aslan take pity on someone if he does something bad and he's really, really sorry?"

The faun stroked his beard. "Son, you are a good buck. If you made a mistake, I'm sure Aslan would forgive you if you were truly sorry."

"Have you ever seen Aslan?"

"No, but I've felt him."

"What did it feel like?"

"When you won the drawing and you cried and said you knew Aslan still loves you, it felt exactly like that." Chios smiled. "I once had my doubts that you could be the Herald in Red, but nobody in this whole village understands Orbereth's anguish more than you, and so none deserves this red vest more." He put his arms around the young buck. "When the Herald in Red climbed the bell tower to shout _'He is risen'_, the bells rang of their own accord. Whenever such love is felt in the heart, Aslan may be found there."

***

On the day before his run, the actual meaning of "truly sorry" weighed more and more upon Buck's heart the more he thought about it. He went to the Moon and Hare Inn where Bramble's father Thornton was employed.

He stepped into the public room and looked about. There was a smell of ale mixed with fried food in the air, and sitting at the tables were an assortment of rustic characters, some of whom Buck knew, but many were strange to him.

He spotted a fox playing a lively game of skollers with an otter. Buck walked over and tapped the fox on the shoulder. "Excuse me. Are you Thornton Foxworth?"

"Me? I hardly think so."

His stoat companion said, "Keel Haul!"

The fox glanced at his game pieces. He took a tile and moved it with a flourish. "I think not! Trump and Game!"

"Garn!" the stoat hissed, pushing the pint of ale toward the victor.

"Oy, son, you're good luck," the fox said. "You ought to stick close by so I can rub ye between the ears!"

"Well sir, I'm looking for…"

Nickaby the Otter came over quickly. "What's all this? What are you doing in here, young buck? This is not a place for furlings to be about."

"I need to see Mr. Foxworth. Bramble says his dad is the cleverest chap in town, and I have a big problem to solve."

"Well if you're relying on Thorny, you _do_ have a big problem," Nickaby said with a good-natured laugh. "Well now, seeing as he's just the one to solve your dilemma, I'll take you to him."

Nickaby escorted Buck through the room where folk paused from their ale and stew to watch him with amusement. The two of them found Bramble's father back in the kitchen doing the wash.

Nickaby bowed, paws clasped. "Thornton Foxworth, Great slayer of darkness, a young disciple comes thirsting for your wisdom." He added, "You have five minutes with him before you slay the rest of those dirty dishes."

***

Buck approached the embarrassed fox. "Mr. Foxworth, have you ever made a mistake?"

"Oh yes, Buck. Many times."

"Anything really big?"

"It depends on what you call big."

"But you were really sorry, right?"

"Of course. Always."

"How do you know when you're really sorry and not just feeling bad. I mean sorry enough that you think Aslan would forgive you."

"Well now, that is a poser. I once broke a couple of dishes. Now I could have hidden the evidence because Nickaby doesn't count the dishes every day. But I told him and because I was honest about it he let me pay for the damage I did by taking a little out of my wages. You see I was honest and I fixed the thing I did. And that's how I knew I was truly sorry and that Aslan would not hold my actions against me."

"What if you broke something you couldn't pay for. Did something that couldn't be undone?"

"That's a strange question. Are you in some kind of trouble, lad?"

"No, not really. I just wonder if I ought to be."

Thorny scratched behind his ears. "You really do need a slayer of darkness, don't you? Tell you what I think, son. You have a big job ahead of you tomorrow and no doubt you have the jitters. Why don't you go play and try to get the run off your mind. Bramble is going fishing…you really should tag along and stop worrying so much."

***

Just as the rosy hue of dawn gave way to the gold of early morning, a small figure ran from behind a tree on the outskirts of town. A young badger clad in crimson with a golden lion embroidered on his chest went hurrying down the street shouting, "He is risen! He is risen!"

Nickaby Otter stood in front of the Moon and Hare Inn with a few of his overnight guests. They waved as the Herald passed by.

"He is risen, Nickaby!"

"He is risen indeed, Papa!"

He greeted Lord Cutshaw and his daughter with the glad tidings. "He is risen!"

"Yes indeed!" boomed the otter, as his daughter waved her handkerchief demurely.

It must be said that Buck looked rather cute in his small red robe, stitched lovingly for him by his mother and given to him as a surprise present. He would get to keep it forever to remind him of Aslan's love.

Mom, Dad and I watched along the road for him to pass. I did not know quite how I would react when I saw him. I clearly remembered last year when a tall badger I did not know dashed by and shouted fit to raise the roof. To me he was Orbereth. I was hoping I would not laugh when a short furling in a red suit tried to stir me to religious fervor.

"Look, here he comes!" Mom shouted. "Hello, Papa! What's the news?"

"He is risen!" Buck shouted with such keen excitement that all thoughts of laughter left my mind.

"Go, go, go!" I cheered on. "Shake it up, Buck! You can do it!"

"He is risen indeed!" Father shouted.

Buck made it a few lengths past us, and for a while it seemed he would disappear into the distance. Then he stopped and looked back. His eyes and Father's met. Buck's ears drooped and his tail slumped and his posture stooped a bit. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Go on!" Mom shouted. "You're not supposed to stop!"

Buck trudged back as if he bore a heavy burden on his shoulders. He slowed as he came close by, his eyes averted. Something gave me a profound sense of dread. For the second time that week I had the strongest urge to put my arms about him and comfort him, and for the second time I let social custom get in the way. Still I wanted to.

Buck stood merely by the strength of Aslan. He walked slowly to dad. "Mr. B.," he said barely above a whisper, "I have something to tell you."

"I know, son. He is risen! Shake it up, lad, time's a wasting!"

"Not that. Not that at all…"

Mum looked distressed. "You need to run along. They're expecting you at the tower. Please, Buck, _run along_."

"But I have to say this. It's building up inside and if I don't say it I'll just burst wide open!"

Mum shook her head. "You don't have to say it. It's all water under the bridge."

Dad came close. "Crystal, let the boy speak. What do you need to say, son?"

Buck swallowed hard. "Mr. B., your wife didn't leave the gate open—I did. I let the water out. Oh Mr. B., I'm so sorry! If there's anything I can do to make up for it, I promise I will."

Mom heaved a deep sigh and buried her face in her paws. Dad merely put his paw on Buck's shoulder and said, "You're the second person that's confessed to me today. Bramble just said _he_ did it."

"He did?" Buck looked away for a bit and wrung his paws. "Bramble would say anything for me. He's my best mate."

"A very loyal friend, no doubt. There's one thing you could do to make it up to me. Just tell me why, son? Why did you do it? Were you playing with the controls to see how they worked?"

"Not playing, sir." He glanced down at his feet. "I heard you talking with Mr. Aspinall the day before the Regatta. You said you were going to cut off the water."

Mum gasped. "Horace, surely you didn't!"

Dad sighed deeply and put his paws to his face. "So, _that_ was it. You thought I had cut off the water and you tried to open the main gate."

Mum looked as if she were about to cry. "You promised them three feet. You promised _me_."

It was Dad's turn to swallow heavily. "I gave them three feet to the very last inch. By the Lion's Mane I did! I was only talking about closing off the flow a bit _at night_ to make up for some of the loss." He sighed again. "I should have asked the Vicar. He would have understood." He shook his head. "It was my fault after all. All my fault…"

Buck looked him in the eye. "I should have told someone, but I wanted to fix it myself. That was selfish and stupid, and no good comes of that. But the worst bit is that I didn't trust you. Everyone says _'When Mr. B. says it, it's so.'_ I should have trusted you…"

Dad scratched his cheek, something he always did under stress or worry. He was as easy to read as a good book. "This has been eating away at you all these months and I was just too blind to see it. Thank the Lord it's over." He smiled tenderly and embraced Buck. "Someday they'll say _'Honest as Buckthorn Badger.'_ Now son, you have a job to do. Shake it up lad, they're waiting for you."

"Yes sir!" Buck smiled a relieved smile. The burden was lifted and he sprinted with renewed vigor. "He is risen, Mr. Beaverlee!"

"He is risen indeed!"

Mom shouted after him, "See me afterward for tea and cake!"

"Sure thing, Mrs. B.!"

***

Thornton Foxworth was sitting atop a fence with his furlings Bramble and Star.

"He is risen!" Buck shouted.

"He is risen indeed!" Thorny said.

"Come on, Bramble! We have to spread the good news!"

"But I'm a fox…"

"I can see that, you mook! It will be all right. Besides, I just saw Mr. B."

"You didn't…"

"I _did_. He told me _everything_."

An embarrassed smile spread across Bramble's face. "Oh, it was nothing, really."

"Bramble, will you climb the tower with me?"

The fox glanced up at his father who answered with a smile and a slight nod of his head.

"It would be an honor, Buck."

By the bell tower a large crowd waited for the Herald in Red. They spotted him running along with a fox right behind him. Both yelled, "He is risen!"

The crowd parted and Buck and Bramble dashed through. Faun Chios smiled and next to him Oakley and Jasmine Badger were bursting with pride. With the love of Aslan filling his heart, Buck entered the tower and bounded up the steps after his long run as if they were a mere trifle with Bramble close on his heels. In moments they reached the top and stepped out on the railing, the morning sun hitting them full in the face. With their arms around each other's shoulder they both shouted, "Narnia! Narnia! He is risen! The Great Lion is coming!"

And then a wonderful thing happened. The large bell began to swing, at first barely perceptible, then further and further on its pinions until it finally rang out with a deep thundering clang, clang, clang! Then one by one the other bells joined in until the furlings were nearly drowned out by the grand paean of the whole carillon. Chios' face went pale and he knelt, hands clasped before his heart. Many of the others knelt as well, heads bowed. A voice among them cried out, "Lord, forgive my sins!" Others cried out, "We love you, Papa!" or "He is risen indeed!"

Mr. and Mrs. Badger embraced. "That's our boy," Oakley said.

"No," Faun Chios replied tearfully, "That is Papa Orbereth…and Aslan."

Now don't get me wrong. My parents raised me to think of Aslan…and the miracle…as something just as real and tangible as the water and the trees. But that day they became a little more real to me, somehow more real than water or trees could ever be, and it renewed my already strong faith in the power of forgiveness. That experience started me on the path I tread today as a mage of Narnia.


	5. All's Well That Ends Well

FIVE

ALL'S WELL THAT

ENDS WELL

To hear me speak in glowing terms of Buck and Bramble, you'd think I wouldn't change them one bit. Yet there was one thing about them I could barely stand. They were the biggest practical jokers I knew, and to a beaver "practical" jokes are not very practical.

Beavers are anything but dull, and we do have a well-developed sense of humor. But we are creatures of teamwork and reliability with a dangerous job to do and firm deadlines to meet. Somewhere along the way, the fun of being scared to death or badly humiliated was pruned out of our family tree. To all the creatures that lived downstream, that was very reassuring. Yet it made me a natural target for Buck and Bramble. When they weren't baking me mud brownies, they were hiding salamanders in biscuit boxes or putting water buckets over doorways with trip strings. I would grit my teeth, force a laugh, and bear it because I loved them dearly. Otherwise I might have buried them both in my back yard…

Once they pushed me a little too far, and I discovered a whole new side to myself, a deeply hidden, un-beaverly part of me that wanted to chuck some mayhem back at them. I wanted poetic justice…not a little light verse but a whole epic rhyme. I wanted to make them eat dirt.

*******

I was sitting on the dock one fall morning with my cane fishing pole and some freshly dug worms, trying to coax one of the large pavenders out of Dad's reservoir. Buck and Bramble came out of the woods looking very secretive, glancing about as if they feared being followed, and approached me with something in a large burlap sack.

Bramble said in a low, excited voice, "Mountie, do you want to see something really special?"

"Could be," I said warily. I'd seen really special things before and rarely liked it.

"We could get in trouble for even _having_ this. So you have to promise me you won't breathe a word of this to _anyone_ including your folks. Spitshake?"

That got my attention. I nodded, spitting in my paw and grasping his paw tightly. "North to South and East to West," I said before releasing him. "All right, open the sack."

I was halfway expecting a rope painted to look like a snake. Instead, Bramble fished out a rather ornate crushed velvet wine red beret with a gold crest of Aslan surrounded by a sunburst. The rim was black rolled leather and it looked absolutely superb. It looked lovely, but I wondered what all the secrecy was about. "Where did you get your paws on that?" I asked.

"I pinched it from the Vicar. He won't notice it's gone. He has two of them and we'll have this one back in a bit."

"May I put it on?"

"Oh no!" Buck said urgently. "This isn't playing dress up. This is serious. It's a magic hat and it grants wishes."

"Really?"

"Show him, Bramble."

The Fox doffed the hat, which sagged a bit because it was made for a larger head. "I wish for a toad frog!" Bramble said imperiously. The hat moved and went "Ree-bee!"

When I watched Bramble remove the hat and stand there with a toad perched on his head, I was in awe. Not of the hat, mind you, for I knew there was a trick involved, but what a splendid illusion!

"It IS magic!" I gasped. "A real magic hat!"

"Want to try it?" Buck asked.

"Sure! So, do you think I could do something really strange? I mean, really? Like turn myself into a potted plant, for instance?"

Bramble scratched his cheek ruffs. "Well that's really reaching for it, Mountie, but yes, I suspect you could."

I scratched behind my ear nonchalantly. "If it's so wonderful, why don't you keep it for yourselves?"

"I'd love to," Buck said, thinking hard... "But it…only gives three wishes."

"That's right," Bramble chimed in, nudging Buck with an elbow.

I wondered how stupid they thought I was so I decided to play along. "You mean like a magic lamp?"

"Yes," the fox said. Then Bramble embellished a bit. "If you make three wishes, then give it back to us, we'll be the new owners all over again and we might get three more wishes. We can keep this going for hours and make out like bandits."

That was a great example of Bramble thinking on his feet. Foxes deserve their reputation for quick wit. Besides he'd already made out like a bandit. Chios would never lend him a cap with real gold ornaments.

"Well," I said thoughtfully, "I don't want to do it right _now_."

"Oh come on, don't be a wet blanket!"

"Don't rush me! If I'm only getting three wishes, I want to give them some serious thought. I want to get the most out of it."

"But you can get more wishes after we get ours."

"You're making me nervous! Besides, you _think_ this will work. You're not _sure_."

"Well, uh, I guess not. Still we have to get the hat back soon."

I looked at them sidelong with a crafty wink. "I want to show Woodrow Aspinall that I have a few tricks in the box he's never seen. This will take him down a peg or two!"

"Yeah," Bramble said with a smile. "He's never seen this trick before, I promise you!" Buck looked at him with a subtle nod.

If anyone was going to see a new trick it was Buck and Bramble. "Come by in about two hours and I'll have it back for you."

*******

Of course I wasn't stupid enough to try for three wishes. I fished for a bit, then got out a few props of my own for my debut as a magician. If you're clever, you're already beginning to guess ahead to what's next, which is more than Buck and Bramble did.

The two co-conspirators returned two hours later, right on time and anxious to see the look on my face. I lay hidden in the brush waiting for the fun to begin.

Bramble saw a few objects lying on the ground. He came close and looked at them. I could hear his slight gasp. "Buck, it's Mountie's vest! Why did he leave it lying there on the ground?"

"Oh, and his warning whistle!" Buck added. "Beavers never leave those laying about!"

They examined the potted plant that sat in the middle. Perched upon the top of it was the "magic" hat.

"Bramble!" Buck gasped, "Mountie asked if he could turn himself into a potted plant!"

"Come on, Buck, surely you don't think that's…Mountebank?" Bramble examined the plant closely. "That is his vest and his whistle…and it is wearing the magic hat. Still…"

"It's not _really_ a magic hat…is it?"

Poor Buck. If it had only been the badger I couldn't have carried the joke on through. He looked so pitiful and lost.

Bramble took a step back. "Mountebank, is that you? Mountie?"

"He can't say yes," Buck stammered. "By the Great Lion, he can't say _anything!_ So he can't wish himself back into a beaver! He's going to be a potted plant for the rest of his life…if you can call that a life! Oh Bramble! What are we going to do??"

"_Don't panic, Buck!_" Bramble practically shouted, his paws wringing and his ears and tail slumping. "We have to fix things! Yes, we have to turn him back!"

Buck took the hat in his trembling paws and placed it on his head. "I wish for this plant to turn back into Mountebank Beaverlee."

Nothing happened.

"_Please_, hat, turn him back!"

Nothing happened.

"Bramble, maybe it's waiting for his two more wishes! Two more wishes that will never come! We need help!"

"We'll go to the Vicarage."

Buck put his paws to his face and looked away. "We can't do that! Chios will tell our folks!"

"No, you dolt, we won't ask him, we'll just go through the library looking for magic books."

"Just like you didn't ask him for the hat…and look where it got us."

***

Ordinarily the Vicarage was a warm, welcoming place. The few times Buck and Bramble had been there were happy experiences. But there was no joy for them to be sneaking about looking among the shelves at the books, startled by every slight sound of a lark perching on the window ledge or the rap of shutters in the wind.

The titles in the library spoke a great deal about the elderly faun. "Lives of the Martyrs," "Frank's Remembrances of England," "Medicinal Herbs and Their Uses," and "Courage: The Battle of Beruna Ford." There were works on everything from Aslan at the Stone Table to the proper instruction of furlings in good citizenship. But the more they looked, the more it became obvious there was a problem. Bramble had always assumed that Buck knew how to read. He scouted the shelves staring at the spines of the leather-bound volumes with a knowing expression but he felt he could rely on the badger. But after one complete pass over all the shelves, the badger still looked puzzled.

"Find anything?" Bramble finally asked.

"No, how about yourself?"

"Not yet. Just history and geography and a bunch of rot."

They went through the shelves twice more, Buck intently scratching his chin and Bramble scratching his cheek ruffs. Then the truth became painfully obvious.

"Buck, you're holding that book upside down."

"How would you know?"

"It has a picture on the front."

The badger looked down. "So it does." He shelved the volume. "I wish we could just ask him."

"There is no way to _just_ ask him," Bramble replied quickly.

"No way to ask him _what?_" Vicar Chios asked.

They both turned suddenly and saw the faun gazing at them intently.

"What are you doing here?" Bramble blurted out.

"I'm sneaking around in my own home looking through all my private things," the Vicar said with a trace of amusement. "Oh, you brought my missing hat back!"

"Yes sir," Bramble said, quickly surrendering the hat.

"So what did you want to ask me?"

"I…uh…had something to ask…Mr. Beaverlee," Bramble said, his tail and ears drooping.

"Indeed," Chios said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "You are a fine lad, Bramblewood Foxworth, but a terrible liar."

"I don't want to lie…but I don't want to break a promise either."

"Well we can't have you breaking a promise. But we can't have you lying either. So tell me lad, and be honest with me, are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Yes sir. Uh…no sir."

"Is it yes or no?"

"A bit of both. A friend of mine is in trouble. But to be honest, it's my doing. I'm sorry and I'm trying to make things right, sir."

Chios nodded slowly. "That's the truth. I can tell. And I like it when furlings are truthful with me. You're such a nice lad, and you have no business corrupting the truth." He reached down and put his hand on Bramble's shoulder, giving it a pat. "I'm not going to pry, but son, if there's anything I can do to help you, just ask me. I'm here to help you."

Bramble's chin trembled and he looked on the verge of tears. "Vicar, I wish you could. I really do."

"This is a magic question, isn't it?" The faun noted Buck and Bramble's look of surprise. "I'm not reading your minds. That book you're holding…"

Indeed Bramble was still clutching the History of Magic in Narnia. The fox looked down at his feet. "Do you have anything on turning a beaver into a potted plant?"

Chios' eyes widened. "Mercy me, why would I want to do that?"

"Trust me, you _wouldn't_ want to do that. But if someone else did that, could you turn the plant back into a beaver?"

"There have been magicians I believe could do such things. But I've never dabbled in such things and I don't have any books that could do that." He crossed his arms and looked a bit stern. "It's altogether better that everyone should remain as they are rather than interfering with the order of nature. You're asking for _serious consequences_ when you go down that road and its better you not take the first step."

"Yes sir." Bramble looked over at Buck and realized he needed to get the badger outside before he began openly bawling. The two quickly headed out the door.

*******

Buck and Bramble headed back to the scene of the crime, still shaking from their close call with the Vicar. "I wonder," the fox said, "do you think this would be one of those spells that breaks on the stroke of midnight?"

"You mean like that badger that went to the royal ball and had to leave before her carriage turned back into a pumpkin?"

"That wasn't a badger, it was a _vixen_…"

"Not when Dad tells it. Besides, why would a vixen want to kiss the handsome prince? He's a _badger_."

"He's a _fox_. That's why he's a handsome prince."

Just before their disagreement had time to become interesting, they came within visual range of the pot. And to their absolute horror there lay bent and brown the sad remnants of the potted plant. It had wilted and died.

Watching them from my hiding place, I finally had a surge of the excited amusement that Bramble must have felt when he'd pulled one of his japes on someone. I had nailed them good! That would teach them to mess around with Mountebank Beaverlee!

"You should have watered him!" Buck shouted in near panic.

"_Me?_ Why didn't _you_ water him?"

"Well whose idea was this whole stupid joke anyway?"

Bramble, unable to think of any rebuttal, buried his face in his paws and began to sob. "We lost him, Buck! And when they find out this will be the worst spanking ever!"

"No," Buck said, "they'll throw us in the bailey and toss away the key!"

"We have to hide him."

"Hide him?? They could look right at him and not know!"

I thought I would give them just a little while longer to squirm. I was unsure if I was teaching them a lesson or learning to enjoy my newfound power.

***

Bramble left for home to sulk while Buck went on to the lodge to see my Mum. Buck loved Mum dearly and he was dreading seeing her hurt more than his own troubles. When he found her, she was singing as she changed the flowers out in the window boxes of our lodge.

Mum had a pretty voice and because it was a sign of happiness it had a calm, reassuring effect on all that heard it. All, that is, but poor Buck who at that moment was appreciating the bitter irony. He thought about how happy she looked, unaware that her whole world was about to come crashing down around her. She spotted the badger and laughed. "What are you blokes cooking up?"

"What do you mean?" Buck said guiltily.

"Well just a few minutes ago Mountie came by wanting one of my dead flowers. He said you were working on some sort of project, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. You and your deep dark secrets!"

"A few minutes ago? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Didn't you pass him coming in?"

"Oh, uh…sure. Seems I made a mistake." His heart was a whirlwind of emotions…relief, love, anger, joy, disgust, and a huge lump of righteous indignation. "Why the little blighter!" he muttered under his breath, clenching and unclenching his paws. Then he did something that spoke volumes about his character. He threw his arms about Mum and gave her a kiss. "Thank you!"

"For what?"

"For being you."

She kissed him too. "Same here, sweetie!"

*******

Poor Bramble went home to the Moon and Hare Inn. As he walked through the door, his sister Starlight noticed his droopy gait. "Whatever's the matter?"

Bramble didn't answer her, settling into a couch. Starlight sat next to him. "Well, is there any way I can help?" she asked.

"No."

Starlight looked at him sternly. "What is wrong? Did you and Buck have another row?"

Bramble bit his lip. "Nothing like that." He sighed. "I did something terrible, Star. Really terrible." He covered his head in his paws. "I'm going to have to go away, far away. Maybe I'll come back someday, but anyhow I won't forget you and Dad."

Starlight drew close. "Bramble, _what did you do?_"

He closed his eyes. "I gave Mountebank Beaverlee a magic hat that turned him into a potted plant."

There was silence in the Inn while the words sank in. Then Starlight burst out laughing.

Bramble was taken aback. "It's not _funny_, Star!"

Starlight covered her mouth with a paw and breathed slowly several times. "It's _not_?"

Bramble looked down shamefully, like a young creature that swiped a cookie from the plate before supper. "I didn't just turn him into a plant." Tears started down his cheeks. "I forgot to water him, so he wilted and _died_…"

Starlight stopped restraining herself and went berserk with laughter. "Wilted and died?? You really had me going there for a bit!"

"It's true, Star, and it's _not funny!_" yelled Bramble. "_Not one bit!_"

Starlight looked at her brother, her eyes teary from laughing too much. "Well…no, I guess it really isn't…" She suddenly had a fit of giggling. "Maybe you should have moved him to a bigger pot!"

Bramble stood up angrily. "I'm _serious_!"

"Since _when?_"

Suddenly, the door to the Inn opened, and Buck ambled in. "Buck!" the fox cried in desperation, "have a word with my sister! She won't believe me!"

"Bramble, I need to see you alone. _Now_."

Starlight went to the door after it slammed shut and put her ear to it. Her hearing was excellent, but the only thing she could make out clearly was her brother's voice shouting, "He did _what??_"

***

Evening came and with it the world began to slow in its rhythms as the sky darkened in anticipation of the sunset. Soon I would have to go in to dinner and I was beginning to worry that I had overplayed my hand.

I was watching from the woods looking out over Dad's reservoir as a most unusual and touching ceremony unfolded. Buck and Bramble appeared with the sad remnants of the potted plant. My heart sped up a bit and I watched the drama proceed.

They trudged slowly and somberly to the dock, heads bowed and tails drooping. They eased out to the end and stood there a moment, the light breeze stirring their fur.

"Well, Mountie, this is it, old friend," Bramble said. "I'm so sorry I don't know what to do! And your poor folks! I just hope wherever you are, you can hear me."

I could hear him all right. A slight smile crept across my face.

"Rest, old friend," Buck stammered. "Sleep in the waters you loved so." He buried his face in his paws.

The smile left my face. I began to feel like a real took. No longer was it the thrill of the chase that kept me in the woods, but rather my growing shame. How could I face them after all this?

Bramble tossed the plant as far as he could and watched it land. His paw lay over his heart. "He had just begun to live and now he's uprooted and tossed aside. Now he's a lovely flower in Aslan's Garden, blooming in that great meadow beyond the Eastern Sea! Oh how I wish I'd had one last chance to go fishing with him!"

Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I quietly swore I would never inflict that sort of pain again as long as I lived.

Buck put his arms around Bramble, crying. "Now we have to go tell his Mum. It'll break her poor heart!"

My guilt was immediately galvanized into fear. I rushed out of my hiding place. "No, no, it's all right! I'm alive! I'm fine!"

Buck appeared to be overwhelmed with relief and joy. "Mountie, it IS you! You're alive! The spell wore off!"

Buck patted Bramble on the back. "He's alive! He didn't die after all! He's alive!"

"I'm sorry I gave you blokes such a turn!"

They came up as if to give me a relieved group hug.

"What do you know?" Bramble said. "We'll get to go fishing again!"

They grabbed me from both sides and quickly, rudely shoved me out to the end of the dock. I knew what was coming.

"How can we go fishing when I forgot to bring the bait?" Buck said.

"We'll call for volunteers," Bramble said. "I volunteer Mountebank Beaverlee."

With that, they gave me what's known as _the old heave-ho_. I splashed into the cold water, thoroughly humiliated but knowing I richly deserved it.

"And just remember," Bramble shouted, "next time you pull something like that, you won't _go fishing!_ We'll _roll out the barrel!_"

I did not know what _rolling out the barrel_ involved, and I went the rest of my childhood careful not to find out.

Far from making them angry, the joke earned me renewed respect in their eyes. Bramble would often tell his own furlings about the time Mountie pulled off the biggest jape of all times. Buck was just so glad to have me back that nothing else mattered. Good old Buck. For my part, I learned something new about how Buck and Bramble enjoyed the unique game called childhood and I suffered their pranks in the future with a little more patience and a lot more understanding. I think I even developed a taste for mud brownies.


	6. The Birthday Girl

SIX

THE BIRTHDAY GIRL

Thornton Foxworth did his best to take care of his furlings. He was very poor, but he always did right by Bramble and Star, his only family since his wife died. Nothing they could ever want was denied them, as long as it was within reason.

As Starlight's birthday approached, Thorny was excitedly planning a modest birthday party while doing the dishes. He had given a great deal of thought to what he would buy, though of course he could not afford anything until payday. Still, daydreams are cheap, or at least they usually are. But in his distracted state of mind, he did not see a stray broom in the way and he tripped and dropped a whole tray of mugs. They all smashed in the floor.

He tried to clean up the mess in a hurry, but the noise attracted some unwanted attention. When Nickaby Otter saw it, he was furious as only an otter can be. He did not sack Thorny but he did insist that there would be no payment that week. "I don't pay blokes to break my dishes!"

***

Thorny sank into despair, not for himself but for his dear furlings.

After his shift, he found Starlight out near the stable having high tea with her rag dolls. She ran to her father and hugged him. "Can you give me a hint? Just a hint?" she asked.

"It's a surprise, Princess. You just have to wait to find out what you're getting."

"Just a little hint?"

"Well...it's not what you're expecting. Let's put it that way." He kissed her and said, "I have to handle something, all right? I'll be right back."

With that Thorny stepped around behind the stable and leaned against its rough wooden wall. And a few tears rolled down his cheeks. Thorny was strong for he had to be, yet he was not made of stone. "Some father I turned out to be," he muttered.

Just then he spotted the Innkeeper coming toward him. He hurried to wipe away his tears and straighten up but the look on Nickaby's face showed that the game was up.

"Look here," said the Otter, "It will take me whole day's take to buy new cups. I can't pay for broken dishes and meet the payroll too."

"I understand."

"Still, I had a daughter. Bring Bramble and Star to the top of Crown Hill right after closing time tomorrow. No promises, mind you, but I'll do the best I can. Can't have the day ruined by tears, can we?"

"Oh bless you! It would kill me to see her cry."

"I didn't mean _her_ tears, you sentimental fool!" The otter smiled. "Garn! I can't stay angry with you."

***

If ever Starlight lost sleep or inner peace worrying about what her present would be, Thornton did so as well. And at work the next day he constantly searched the otter's face for some sign that things went well or poorly, but Nickaby did not give on one way or the other.

As one could imagine, by the end of the workday Thornton was a nervous wreck. He controlled himself as well as he could, leading his chatty and excited little furlings up the trail to the summit of Crown Hill.

"What is it, Daddy?" Starlight asked.

"It's a surprise, love."

"But it's almost time. Can't you just give me another little hint?"

"No, Princess. I went to a great deal of trouble to get this for you and I want it to be a surprise."

"But why won't you give me at least a little hint?"

"Because you're such a clever little girl that there is no such thing as a little hint. Got it?"

She and Bramble ran onward, making it hard for Thorny who had put in a full day on his feet to keep up with them.

Finally they reached the top of the hill. Standing there was Nickaby and an old friend of his, Windway the Griffin.

Starlight ran over. She had rarely seen a griffin, and never up close before.

"Happy birthday!" Nickaby called out, mussing the fur between her ears. "My aren't you getting up there, growing like a weed I daresay."

"This is a strange place to have a birthday party," she replied, looking about. It was a windswept hilltop without trees, but it did offer a great view of the valley below.

"Not strange when you consider what your dad got you."

"What IS it?"

Nickaby reached down and lifted her under the arms. He hoisted her on to the soft golden fur of the griffin's back. "Now you hold on tight."

"You mean...??"

"But of course."

At that, the griffin began to run swiftly on his soft paws, and then spread his wings and with a mighty downward flap and upward spring became airborne. She shrieked with mingled fear and delight. "Oh! Oh! I can see the whole world!"

Nickaby put his arm around Thorny's shoulder and gave him a little pat. "Bless 'em, they're only young once."

Not surprisingly, Thornton Foxworth cried a little, but did not spoil the day.


	7. Nothing to Sneeze At

SEVEN

NOTHING TO

SNEEZE AT

Nickaby Otter was stirring the soup in a large iron kettle, humming softly to himself, when the kitchen door swung open and a fox came trudging in, ears down and tail limp. The otter looked about and smiled.

"Well Thorny, how is our little Starlight today?"

"On the mend," Thornton said, tying on an apron. "She's not coughing or sneezing now, and as soon as her fever's down Bramble can come home. Can't happen soon enough."

"Yes, it will be good to have them underfoot again," the old otter said, giving the fox the once over. "You look tired, laddie. I'd give you a holiday if Remembrance Day weren't upon us. Just keep a grip on it for me and remember I always give you a bonus for working rush times."

"I know, and I appreciate all you've…you've…_ATCHOO!_"

"Bless you!" Nickaby grabbed up a tea towel and offered it as a handkerchief.

"I don't need…_ATCHOO!_" The fox grabbed the tea towel and blew his nose. "Oh that's better. I thought for a moment I was getting a touch of…the…_ATCHOO!_"

"Oh no!" Nickaby felt Thornton's nose. It was hot and dry. "It can't be!" The fox's eyes were dull and bloodshot. "Thornton Foxworth, this is my busiest time of year. I _forbid_ you to get sick, do you hear me??"

"Yes sir."

"I'm taking you to the vicar and getting one of his concoctions. We are going to stop this thing. Grab your cap and shake it up, lad."

***

Calormene Flu paid no heed to Nickaby's commands or to Chios' concoctions. Thornton Foxworth trudged home from the Vicarage with a headache. He had already begun coughing and was told it would be much worse before it was any better.

"I'm so sorry," Thorny said. "Someone had to tend to my little girl, and…_ATCHOO!_...I didn't know what else to do."

"You did what you had to do," Nickaby said. "And please understand I'll do what I have to do. I must have a full staff this time of year. I'll be hiring on another body to fill in, but it will have to come out of your salary. You'll still get fed, but that's the best I can do till you're up and about."

"Of course. Maybe I can squeeze by it in—_ATCHOO—_four days. Five at most."

"Nothing doing. The Vicar was _quite_ clear. You must have a week of bed rest, plenty of cold water, fresh fruit and fresh air. If you don't take it easy, it could kill you and break your furlings' hearts. Two days salary isn't worth that. And besides…it wouldn't be the same about the Moon and Hare without you."

"Thanks. I'll do my very best, sir."

"I know you will," Nickaby said gently, patting Thorny's shoulder. "That's all I can ask of you. We just have to get you well again."

***

Nickaby stood morosely by the sink stacked with dishes. He did not miss the chats he had with Thorny, for they never spoke much while washing up. Rather he missed the feeling of quiet companionship.

He was drying a trencher when the familiar sound of a vixen's voice brightened the room. "Mister Otter, remember me?"

He looked about. The trencher slipped his grasp and clattered to the floor.

"Did I frighten you?" She took a step forward and picked up the plate, handing it back to the otter. "I should have knocked. I'm Hollyberry, Clara's twin sister."

"Twin sister," Nickaby stammered. "Garn, no truer words were spoken. I thought I'd seen her ghost!" He managed to recover his composure. "Your sister was the sunshine of this place, and it's an honor to have you here. Is there something I can do for you?"

"There's something I can do for you. You need someone to wait tables. Maybe I can pitch in and you won't have to hire full time help."

"What a fine thing to do, helping out ol' Thorny! Just like your sister on the inside too—all kindness and sunshine." He sat the dish down and doffed his apron. "Do you have any experience in hospitality?"

"A little. I'm a quick study and I take criticism well."

"Good, good! Can you start right away?"

"This very minute."

***

Nickaby watched Holly through the doorway, his mind drifting back to old times. He could remember family dinners with Elsie by his side, Thorny and Clara across the table and Clara's eternal struggle to get Bramblewood to eat his food, not play with it. "Where did it all go?" he wondered. "My little girl off and married. My dear, sainted wife gone to her reward…" As he leaned against the doorpost deep in thought, he heard a knocking at the back door.

"At least _this_ bloke didn't sneak up on me," he muttered, heading for the service entrance. "Let yourselves in," he said, "it's not latched."

The door swung open. Nickaby smiled and hurried to greet his visitors. "Mr. Badger! Bucky! Bramble! Welcome! Come to see our Aunt Hollyberry have we?"

"Not exactly," Oakley said. "The boys were a bit restless so I thought they might as well do something useful like wash dishes. And I'm not leaving them here unsupervised, so I might as well cook."

"I can't afford to pay you much."

"Thorny needs his salary, and if he gets it, we're square all around."

"You noble fellow! How kind of you!" Nickaby ushered him in with a pat on the back. "I promise you sir, if you'll help me make it through the holiday, he'll get every last farthing coming to him."

Meanwhile, I made beds and cleaned windows. All I needed to hear is that Bramble's dad was in trouble and there I was in the thick of it, and it got very thick before it ran its course.

***

Two days had passed. Nickaby took advantage of a late evening lull to head upstairs. He gently rapped on the door of Room 22. In a moment it was answered by a young vixen.

"Shh, he's asleep," Star whispered.

"Is he now?" Nickaby mussed her between the ears with a paw. "Princess, why don't you run down to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. Don't rush, dear; I'll sit with your daddy."

The otter took his station beside the sickbed. In the dim light of a couple of candles he saw the fox looking so weak and frail, his thin and raspy breaths making his chest rise and fall. For Nickaby it brought back troubling memories of his Elsie slipping away. He put his paw over Thorny's and said, "You have to get well again, you fond mook! If you die, I'll…" Tears slid down his cheeks. "Well, you just _can't_ die on me. Bramble and Star need their daddy and I need my son." He looked out the window at the lonely moon and sighed deeply. "_Please_ Lord, make him well again."

***

Remembrance day dawned bright and clear. Rather than starting with a hearty breakfast, all the guests and staff made their way to the front lawn and lined up along the road. Bramble looked up and saw his father's face in the window. He waved and Thorny waved back.

As Bramble stood in the middle of the road keeping a sharp lookout, Buck was lost in a reverie. Aslan seemed close enough to touch. He felt his father's paw on one shoulder and Nickaby's on the other.

"Brings back memories, hmm?" the otter said.

"Oh yes indeed!"

"Here he comes!" Bramble shouted excitedly. "Get ready!"

Folk bowed their heads and clasped their paws. Wishes were made, prayers for forgiveness muttered and thoughts turned to Aslan and Papa Orbereth. "Make my daddy well again," Bramble whispered. Nickaby nodded at him…no doubt he'd asked the same thing.

"He is risen! Narnia, he is risen!" the badger herald shouted, running in his crimson robe.

"He is risen indeed!" the spectators cheered, waving and pointing onward.

As the herald passed by on his run toward the bell tower, many of the guests joined the ever-growing throng following him. Those that did not headed in to start the day with a hearty breakfast. Hearty, that is, for those who did not have to prepare it.

***

Breakfast on Remembrance Day was the second biggest event at the Moon and Hare. The motley crew of kitchen workers was put to the supreme test with everyone busier than a beaver with two dams. Even I got dragged into the kitchen, something akin to scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Just when things seemed to be humming along as fast as they could go, Nickaby stuck his head in the door and shouted, "Shake it up in there or we'll be having breakfast for dinner!"

Hollyberry came in looking disheveled and hard pressed. "Oakley, I need twenty-five porridges."

"_How many??_"

"You heard me! They're eating everything but the furniture!"

Holly grabbed a crock-pot full of hot cider and started back out the door. Which would have been fine if Buck weren't headed in with a load of dirty dishes. Both ended up in the floor.

"Garn!" the vixen shouted. "Buck, there's another pot on the top shelf. Fetch it down like a good lad."

"I'll pay for the damage," Oakley said.

"I should have said _out_ before I hit the door. It was my fault."

"It's _the day's_ fault. I hardly know which way is up."

"Dad, I'm scared!" Buck said, teetering on the tall, unsteady ladder to the top shelf.

"I'm coming!" Oakley stopped stirring porridge to help Buck get the crock-pot. In the meanwhile the porridge began to boil ominously.

Nickaby stuck his head in the door. "Garn! My crock-pot! What's the meaning of…_thunderation!_ Oakley!! The porridge!!"

"I'm sorry, Nickaby! I was…"

"Dad," Buck shouted, "I can't reach the top shelf!"

"Stir! Stir!" Nickaby said to Oakley. "I'll fetch it down myself." He scrambled up the ladder and reached for the large crock-pot. The ladder began to slip and he dropped what he was doing…literally…to grab the shelf. The ladder clattered to the floor and the crock-pot rolled off and smashed.

"Oh no," Buck said. "You dropped it!"

"Do you _think_ so??" The otter said, dangling from the shelf. "Fetch the ladder and _get me down!_"

***

After breakfast as the crowds thinned down to normal and the out-of-towners packed up to leave, Nickaby took off his apron. He went to Oakley and Hollyberry to shake paws. "Such fine friends in need," he said shaking Oakley's paws and giving Hollyberry a kiss on the cheek.

He got down and opened his arms. "Come give your Uncle a big hug!" Bramble ran to him. "You too, you little rascals!" He gave us all a big squeeze. "Such fine lads, and such a pleasure to work with!" He gave each of us two crescents out of his own pocket. "Something to remember the day by."

At this fine moment, as if to cap the joy, Thorny stepped into the room, weak but upright.

Nickaby tossed down his towel. "Welcome back to the land of the living!" The otter came over and embraced him. "So you got enough bed rest, hmm?"

"Enough to last me the rest of my life. I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Well if you're looking for a hobby, I got plenty of 'em to keep your mind occupied. Oh, and here's your salary."

"My salary?"

"Yes indeed!" Nickaby said with a laugh. "This bunch of mooks came in to break my dishes, burn my porridge and spill my cider. It's worth paying up just to clear them out of my kitchen."

"By the Lion!" Thorny stammered, going to Oakley and Holly and embracing them.

"And that's not all," Nickaby said. "I'm giving you a raise of eight crescents a week. Don't let it go to your head, now."

"Eight crescents!" Thorny was overcome. "I am the luckiest chap in town."

"It's good to have you back, and just in the nick of…_ATCHOO!_"

Thorny felt of Nickaby's nose and peered into the otter's eyes. "Oh no."

"Oh no?" He saw Thorny nod his head. "Oh no!!"

"Don't worry. A week of bed rest and plenty of fluids and you'll be right as rain…" Star slipped her paw into Nickaby's and said, "We'll get you a nice cold dipper of water, Grandpa Nickaby. Come along and lay down."

"Garn! Of all the … _ATCHOO!_"

"Bless you," Star said, offering him a tea towel. "Don't worry about a thing. I'm sure Buck and Bramble will tide you over. Mountie can do the…"

Nickaby looked about in a panic. "Not a bit of it! Thorny, take the money from the till _this instant_ and hire…hire me...a qualified…_ATCHOO!_"

"Yes sir. As soon as I fetch you some fresh fruit."


	8. Topsy Turvy

EIGHT

TOPSY TURVY

Buck and Bramble were best friends but they were also arch rivals. Theirs was a lopsided contest, and the badger kit had to struggle to keep up with the agile fox pup.

Buck knew that Bramble was swifter, and he accepted this with grace. When the fox said "I'll race you" as he often did, the badger never refused. In his own way, Bramble returned the good will by not beating Buck as badly as he could.

In fencing with wooden swords, Buck's superior strength only delayed a sound drubbing from Bramble's nimble thrusts. Even as he held his own, he wondered if the fox was merely toying with him. In the end he would dutifully submit, 'dying' with the sword under one arm and a very convincing gasp. At least Bramble would say, "No one can die like you," and that was some consolation.

Yet even in areas where their differences shouldn't matter, Bramble emerged victorious with maddening regularity. In all things the fox exuded a confidence and courage which the badger lacked. When Buck seemed discouraged, Bramble would say, "You hold back too much. You need to let it out." A lot of good that did the badger, who wasn't sure he _**had**_ anything to let out.

***

One fine Wednesday in spring—Thorny always worked late on Wednesday—Bramble was seeking refuge at Badger House. He loved it there, because it was a real house, not a room in an inn. The family lived in the whole house, ate together around one table, and never had strangers in the parlor. He could peek in all the rooms without being scolded and he never got cuffed for climbing on things. In fact, the fox had just "tightrope walked" the narrow ledge atop Oakley's rock fence, and then turned about for the return trip.

"This time I'll do it with my eyes closed."

"Careful, mate. It's a long way down."

"I know." Bramble groped forward gingerly, tongue protruding as he made the supreme effort with ears back and trail twitching with pent up nervous energy.

The badger frowned. "You're squinting."

"Am not!"

"Now Bramble…"

"_**Am not!**_" He looked about suddenly, then he lost his balance, shrieked and plunged to the ground.

Buck gasped, running to the gate and around to the other side where his friend was waiting. "Are you alright?"

Bramble scowled. "I almost wasn't! Garn, you broke my concentration." The fox dusted himself off. "And I wasn't _**squinting!**__"_

"I'm sorry." And Buck was sorry he said it, though he meant it. "If you want another go at it, I'll be quiet. You won't hear a peep out of me."

"No, it's _**your**_ turn now. Let's see _**you**_ try it."

The badger looked at the tall fence and his paw went up to his mouth. "But Bramble…"

"Don't worry. I'll be quiet." He smirked. "You won't hear a peep."

Buck's ears and tail slumped. "I would, really…but I think…I think it's almost time for tea," he said softly.

Buck had a good heart and loved Bramble like a brother. Still, even the kindest, dearest brothers want to be the best at something once in a while. The badger wanted victory, just once to see his opponent utterly humiliated, humbled in the dust at his feet, drinking the bitter cup of defeat to the very dregs. Just once he wanted to tell Bramble, "You held back too much. You should have let it out!" All in the nicest way, of course…

***

Buck saw one shining ray of hope when his father Oakley came home for tea. Mr. Badger was a fountain of sage advice, and while he never swayed the course of an empire or cured the Calormen Flu, his judgment was always sound. Who knows but that some measure of Papa Orbereth's noble blood might have run in his veins? Buck pondered an excuse…any excuse…to spend a few moments alone with him.

Buck's mother Jasmine was humming as she sailed serenely through her kitchen like a yacht on the Wells. She was proud of her ability to do five things at once and watch them all turn out all right. She showed love for family and friends through the care and skill she put into her cooking, and for all that grand largesse she demanded only one thing. Everyone had to steer clear of her kitchen unless invited in. Bramble's unannounced entrance took her by rather unpleasant surprise.

"Oy there, why are you running about in my kitchen?"

"Buck said you needed my help."

"He said _**what**_?" Jasmine paused, thought a moment, then brightened. "Oh, yes. Yes, I see. Now I remember asking him to fetch you." Which of course she did not. She came over and rested her paw between his ears, giving his head a little muss. "I have a batch of dough that needs working and rolling. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Oh yes ma'am! Sometimes I help Nickaby at the Moon and Hare."

"That's perfect! Now don't put a lot of air in the batch. Just fold and squash, fold and squash…"

***

Oakley smiled, giving Buck a little pat on the shoulder. "If you really want to impress Bramble, you need a show-stopper, and I know just the thing. When I was your age I used to stand on my head."

"You could do that?"

"Yes, we all did it. But I could walk on my forepaws. Here, let me show you…"

Oakley put his paws down, rested his head on the floor, then kicked up one leg. Nothing happened. So he tried hopping with both legs. For his trouble he did rise briefly in the topsy turvy position but immediately fell over, sending himself and a lamp stand crashing to the floor.

Jasmine hurried out of the kitchen with Bramble. "What's all the hurly burly? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Oakley said, rubbing his shin. "I was showing Bucky how to stand on his head."

"Really?" Jasmine put her paws on her hips. "Go ahead. This is one thing I simply must see with my own eyes."

"Me too" Bramble said, a grin creeping over his face.

Oakley looked up sheepishly. "I can't, Snookie. I'm out of practice."

Jasmine smiled and looked him over appraisingly. "It's not what's missing that's at fault." She prodded him in the belly with a paw.

"Are you saying I'm getting stout?"

She smiled indulgently. "Don't worry, love. It gives you a nice settled look."

Bramble sniggered, but he also kindly offered Oakley a paw up.

"No thanks, young fellow. I'm not _**that**_ stout."

***

When Bramble had made all the bread that Jasmine's poor nerves could stand, he cleaned up and went to find Buck. This time the badger was prepared to astound him, for Oakley had shown him how to make faces. It was scandalous to picture _**the**_ Oakley Badger of Badger, Carson, and Diggins making funny faces, but Buck remembered that everyone is young at least once.

"Oy Bramble, look at this!"

The fox drew near and stared a moment at Buck's best effort. A worried frown crossed his face and he stroked his chin with a paw. "My my, that looks serious. Maybe the vicar should take a look at it."

"I'm not sick," the badger said, trying to hold his face in that position without making it stick that way. (Parents always think it will, but it never does). "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Oh you were making faces?" The hint of a sly smile flashed across his face. In fact the little tookie knew all along. "Here, try this one."

Bramble took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he crossed his eyes, tilted his head, raised one ear, drooped its fellow, bared his teeth and let his tongue hang out. "Hewwo, Puh-thord Paj-jah!"

Buck flinched but resisted his urge to look away. His paws clenched into tight little fists, his ears went back and his tail twitched as he fought back a chuckle. Then Bramble began to flutter his eyelids. That was the topper. The floodgate opened, the dam burst, and Buck's paws went to his face. "Garn, that's terrible!" (It was terrible in a wonderful sort of way.) He looked away and laughed. "All right, you win! Enough!"

***

Buck had just lost his second straight game of checkers to Bramble and his patience was at the snapping point. He dared not suggest that Jasmine needed him in the kitchen—Mrs. Badger had made that gently but forcefully clear—so he politely said, "I'll be right back" and simply left for a bit. Very politely and very conveniently Bramble remained by the hearth. Odd how the simplest solutions are often the best.

"So," Oakley asked, "how did the face go over?"

Buck crossed his eyes, tilted his head, raised one ear, drooped its fellow, bared his teeth and let his tongue hang out. "Wike dis, daddy." He fluttered his eyelids.

Mr. Badger looked away. "Garn, I don't want to know where he learned that one!"

"Well he just beat me twice at checkers. Twice in a row."

Oakley furrowed his brow thoughtfully and scratched behind an ear. "Well son, Bramble can do a lot of things better than you, but they're all quick things, the sort you do on the spur of the moment. But how good is he at carrying out a long project? Think about it…who lashed all the sticks in the tree house? Who saved the money for a new boat?"

"I did."

"Your grandfather is the champion at skollers in the Moon and Hare Inn. He never moves quickly, but when he does move, he trounces his opponent. Why? Because he considers his next step in advance, and because each move is a part of a bigger plan. If you want to beat your friend, don't win the battle, win the war. And if you play it right, you'll both come out a winner." Oakley smiled. "Whatever happens, you're a winner, my son, and I'm very proud of you."

Buck put his arms around his daddy's neck. "I'm proud of you too, even if you can't stand on your head."

***

Bramble waited impatiently by the garden wall, the very wall where he had tightrope walked. "Alright, if you're going to show me a trick, do it now."

"_**A**_ trick? You mean _**the**_ trick. This is the topper of all toppers. I'm going to do a death-defying headstand on top of the stone wall."

Bramble's eyes widened and his tail twitched. "Have you jumped off the path?? You don't know how to stand on your head, you fond mook! And all the way up there??"

"Who told you I didn't know how?"

"Your daddy fell trying to teach you. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Oh that. Well, he's stout, you know. I'm not. Besides, you know how you say I'm holding back? This time I'm going to let it out."

Bramble chafed at the sound of his own words. "If you go up there, I'll…I'll tell your daddy!"

"But you said…"

"Look, Buck, sometimes you have to hold back." He scratched his cheek ruffs. "If you want to stand on your head, do it down here like normal folk. And find yourself a good teacher."

"Do you have one in mind?"

"Me of course. I'll teach you right and proper. Just watch and learn." He got into position and did a spectacular head stand, even swinging his legs a bit.

"My daddy used to walk on his hands. Can you?"

Bramble was nonplussed, but he concentrated and moved one paw, paused a moment, then moved another. He fell over, but when he got up he smiled. "I _**did**_ take a couple of steps. You saw, didn't you?"

"It was splendid!" The badger smiled. "You're the best!"

Bramble smiled broadly. As Buck would come to realize, Bramble worked hard at being the best at everything in order to impress him. He rarely raced his sister Star and he never showed the Kelty brothers how he could stand on his head, much less walk on his front paws. But when Buckthorn Badger told him he was the best, he was supremely happy.

Oakley was watching the drama unfold from the window. He called Jasmine beside him and the two of them saw their son rise for one brief moment in a headstand, smiled and put their arms around each other.

That evening when the sky turned soft and purple and Bramble headed home for dinner, Oakley took Buck aside to reflect on the day's events. "Son, I'm proud of you. The way you faked that stunt with Bramble shows you really took my words to heart. You just listen to your mum and I and you'll go far in life."

"Oh I wasn't faking it," Buck said, for he was always truthful. "I was going to try. I can't win with skill so I have to fight back with pluck."

Oakley winced. "And I thought…oh well, give it time…" He chuckled—Oakley had a warm chuckle that made you feel tingly all over—and said, "If you're that brave, I can try again."

Mr. Badger rested his head on the ground, then swung both legs up. Buck grabbed his daddy about the knees for a moment, then quickly let go to leave him balanced for a moment topsy turvy. "Mum! Come quick!"

He had already fallen over before she arrived, but he still had a broad grin on his honest face. "My dear, I'm still the buck you married."

"No, love. You're even better."

Buckthorn Badger had a lot of fine qualities, but what he did best was to bring out the goodness in others. In that regard, he never held back, but always let it out.


	9. The Written World

NINE

THE WRITTEN WORD

From the pages in the Royal Library, great voices of the past speak again, enriching the spirit and equipping the nation. The gift of writing is one we never take for granted, yet most of the folk in my hometown saw little more than dark lines on the page. Literacy was a luxury that few could afford, so for most of them only the memory of dear voices kept the treasured words alive.

***

"Confound it," Dad said, pounding his paw on the table. "I can't find my reading spectacles. Will you read this for me dear?"

Mum took the note and read it aloud. This was a scene that played out time and time again at our house for Dad never seemed to find his spectacles when he needed them most.

"Dear Horace, the honor of your presence is requested for a meeting of the Town Council on Wednesday afternoon. Vicar Chios."

"Just what I need," Dad said with a sigh. "Just another gum flapping session with a lot of old breezers when I have spring rains swelling the reservoir and not a one of those bureaucrats is up here to help me pull sticks out of the weir."

Mom sympathetically nodded and handed him back the slip of paper glossed in Faun Chios' superb penmanship. I was learning to read and write from the elderly Vicar and aspired to duplicate his lovely G's and bold sweeping S's. My best efforts thus far had gotten me…well…a sincere back pat for making my best effort. Coaxing poetry of motion from a quill pen I'd sharpened myself was an elusive dream.

Father turned his attention to me. "Speaking of letters, my boy, it's about time for your next lesson." He saw my withering look and added, "Education will open doors for you in this world. I hate to keep pushing you, but it's for your own good. Besides once you've finished your homework you can run along and play for the rest of the day. Now run along and see the Vicar and be sure to tell him for me that I'll be there on Wednesday."

***

I sat in the Vicarage with a slate in my lap and a piece of chalk diagramming sentences, perhaps the most painful way to waste a fine September day. I realized Dad had to scrimp and save to pay for my lessons and that Chios himself was teaching me at less than the usual rate, yet I hated sitting in class while other liberated furlings were out playing in the fair weather. How I would have rather been with Buckthorn Badger and Bramblewood Foxworth fishing by the Wells or flying a kite in Wentworth Field. Or, frankly, almost _anything_ else almost _anywhere_ else I could think of. Unfortunately that attitude reflected in my work, which was not terrible but also fell way short of my potential. I realize this looking back, but at the time the price of education…study…seemed a real bother.

Spelling was another hurdle I had to overcome. In particular that most annoying of rules, "I before E except after C or when sounding as A as in Neighbor or Weigh." It did no good at all to suggest to Chios that words should be spelled exactly the way they sound. Very patiently but very firmly he always brought me back to the Royal Standard and only rewarded the one true spelling of each word.

"I have a progress report for you," Chios said, looking slightly stern. I knew that could not be a good thing. "You'll need to get this signed by your folks and brought back to me. The usual."

"May I see what you wrote?"

"It's your progress. It should be no secret to you." I unfolded the sheet. "Mountie shows real promise but he needs to apply himself more diligently. His neatness and spelling could use some extra practice."

My paws shook. "Please, sir, I need a better report than this or I won't get my allowance. Dad said he'd cut me off till my work is satisfactory."

"Well son, your work is not quite satisfactory. It would be fine for a dull fellow, but you're not a dull fellow. I can't very well sell your future over some toy or treat you want to buy. The real treats in life come to those who earn them, and education will help you. You could be a supervisor and be called 'sir' or you could be a bobbie loading barges all day and be 'hey lad' for the rest of your life. Try to understand."

"Please, Vicar, it's not for me. My dad can never find his spectacles. I wanted to give him a new set for his birthday but I have to pay cash. Erythros does not take credit, you know."

The faun was taken aback. "That's a rather expensive gift," Chios said. "Besides, I didn't know Horace could read."

"Daddy can read," I insisted. "He has a set of spectacles. He just can't find them."

"Have you ever actually seen him read? Have you even seen his spectacles?"

I thought for a while, but I realized I had not. "Well, not sir, but he wouldn't buy a set of reading spectacles if he didn't know how." I tried to forestall spotting the first crack in my father's perfect armor.

"How close are you to having enough money?"

"Does it matter now?"

"It might. It just might be very important."

I pulled a few crescents from my pocket and counted them. "I need five more silver crescents. I can earn three or four doing jobs around town but without my allowance I'll never get enough in time to have the spectacles before Dad's birthday."

"I see." He sighed. "Do you promise to study harder and do your homework so your marks will be higher next time?"

"Oh yes sir. I promise."

"I won't change the report because that would be dishonest. But I'll help you." He put a hand in his purse and took out five shiny silver coins. "Will this be enough?"

"Oh my!" I handled the glistening treasure. Throwing my arms around him I gave him a crushing beaver hug and thanked him profusely. The classroom had gone from prison cell to Heaven and all because love came in to it.

***

I was late coming home, yet Dad did not scold me nor ask where I had been. He was strict about some things, but he also respected my status as a working furling and gave me some leeway.

"Here is my progress report," I said, handing him the note.

"I don't have my glasses on me. I'll have to ask…"

"Here are your glasses," I said, putting a soft leather pouch in his paws.

"Where did you find these?"

"I bought them. Happy birthday, Dad."

He opened the pouch and carefully slid out the bright lenses in their slender brass frame. Trembling with emotion, he hefted them in his paws and then tried them on.

"Mountie, where did you ever get the money for these?" His eyebrow rose. "You didn't buy them on credit did you?"

"Oh no sir." I added with some pride, "First there was my allowance. And I did some odd jobs. I washed dishes at the Moon and Hare and cut dead branches out of the trees at Cutshaw House."

"But son, I thought you were out playing with Buck and Bramble. Goodness knows you have so little time off with lessons and all."

"I couldn't tell you. It would have spoiled the surprise."

He looked wistfully at me, hugged me. "Son, I wish you had told me before you went to all this trouble! Giving up all that time, spending all that money! I feel so guilty that I don't know what to do!" He shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

"Don't you like them?"

"I _love_ them," he said, but then he added something I thought I would never hear from his own mouth. "I never had reading spectacles to begin with. That was my excuse." He sat me in his lap and put his arms around me. "I want you to get your education more than anything. But son, when I was growing up my father was not at all well. He had asthma so bad that he'd struggle just to make ends meet. I had to grow up at a very early age, helping him out. What I'm trying to say is…"

"I know," I said quietly. "But even if you can't read, there are lots of things that glasses are good for like tying fishhooks…"

I felt him tremble with emotion as he held me. "Education is important. I knew that, and I wanted to learn, really I did. I would have been the first Beaverlee buck ever that learned his letters. Your success, in some small way, will be my success too. Even if I can't read, I can make it possible for you to get an education. That, my boy, means the world to me."

It was my turn to feel so guilty that I didn't know what to do. "I need to study harder. I promise I will."

"I know you will." He mussed my fur and added, "Son, I will never misplace this pair of specs as long as I live."

***

My father's determination made the difference. I knew he had been making sacrifices for me but never fully appreciated just how much it meant to him. I applied myself with full force throughout the next quarter, practicing my penmanship and spelling until I thought there wasn't enough room between my ears for one more fact to sit. It paid off too. When I got my November progress report, I saw the phrase "Excellent progress." I was so happy that I ran all the way home with it.

I showed it to Dad, and then thought better of it because I remembered that he couldn't read. So I started to take it to Mom. But he took it from my paw, and then took his spectacles from his vest. He put them on his nose and said, "Ah, it's from Vicar Chios."

I realized he was recognizing the elegant shapes of the letters. Besides Chios was one of the few people that wrote us. Still, I was in for a bit of a surprise.

Mom asked, "What does it say, Horace?"

His face contorted with strain as he slowly, painfully said, _"Ekk-sahh-lennt… purr-ohh… grr-ess."_ He looked up with a smile. "It says our son is making excellent progress!" He patted my shoulder. "I'm so proud of you, Mountie!"

I smiled back, a lump growing in my throat. "I'm proud of you too, Dad."

Any feelings of discomfort or pity I felt in knowing he was illiterate were swept away. Once again, in my eyes father could do anything, and not because it came easy to him but because he came hard to it.

I learned that Mum had been tutoring him nights after I had gone to bed. My father had such determination that I would know the value of an education that he decided to teach me…as he always did…by setting the good example.

He never learned how to read well, but my first years as a mage were cheered by Mum's letters that always had a sentence or two added at the bottom in Dad's painfully crafted pen. I saved every one of them and for me those dark marks bring back his beloved voice from the past:

_"Son, I am so proud of you. I miss you very much. _

_--- Love, Dad."_


	10. The Value of Money

TEN

THE VALUE OF

MONEY

Oakley Badger divided the stack of silver crescents carefully. "Well son," he said to Buck, "I've set aside money for the market, for the household, for emergencies, and a couple of crescents for my old age. Am I forgetting something?" He thumped the side of his head with a paw, his eyes half closed. "Come on now, help me out…"

"My allowance??" Buck asked.

"Oh yes…" Oakley flashed a mischievous grin and mussed his son between the ears with a paw. "And now, while I have your undivided attention, I'd like to teach you a little more about the value of money."

Buck sighed. "Dad, you told me about bargains last week…"

"And this week's lesson is setting goals. Rather than spending your money on a lot of small things, you might want to think about buying a few good things instead, or even save up for one really great thing." Oakley put two silver crescents into Buck's eager paws. "It's two crescents now, but if you held on to them, you'd have four crescents next week and eight by the end of a month."

Buck pocketed the money. "Yes, Father. But what would I buy with it?"

"Maybe nothing with eight crescents. But you've always wanted a new fishing pole. That could be within your reach if you showed enough restraint."

That remark provoked some genuine interest. "One with metal fittings and a reel?"

"Of course. The only limit of your dreams is yourself." Oakley rested his paw on Buck's shoulder. "Son, you've never seen the great castle of Cair Paravel before…"

"Have you, Dad?"

"Once. It was enormous."

"Bigger than Lord Cutshaw's manor?"

Oakley laughed. He had a wonderful laugh that made you feel warm all over. "Much, much bigger! And yet the whole thing was made up of stone blocks no bigger than a bushel basket. Which brings me to the point: most great things are made up of many small things that get added together gradually. Silver crescents are small, but a hundred of them makes a gold lion." Oakley added in a quiet voice, "Let me show you one."

Oakley went into his personal savings and pulled out a shiny bit of gold. He handed it to Buck.

"Oh!"

"Yes. Feel the weight of it. See how it shines? Isn't it beautiful? Silver crescents lose their luster but never gold lions." He took the coin back before it grew to Buck's paw. "Do you know what this coin represents?"

"Aslan?" Buck said, waiting for a nod of approval. "Narnia? A hundred silver crescents?"

"No, son. It represents the great things you can do if you set goals for yourself and stick to them. Goals are important, my boy. They built this gold lion a few crescents at a time, and they built Cair Paravel a few blocks at a time. I'm not going to tell you what to do with your allowance, but I hope you'll give some thought to what I said. There are all sorts of wonderful things you could buy someday if you don't waste all your money on trifles. Remember, son, the only limit on your dreams is yourself."

***

Thornton Foxworth never set aside crescents for his old age and he had never owned a gold lion in his life. As a matter of fact, he never even owned a fishing rod with metal fittings and a reel.

The allowance he gave out to his furlings Bramble and Star was a tremendous sacrifice. That was not the only reason…or even the main reason…why his children got one crescent each. Thorny had to work all his life and he wanted his furlings to have the childhood he was denied. That's why he strictly limited the amount of work that Bramble and Star could do to earn an allowance.

"I wish I could give you more, but you know how it is."

"I understand," Bramble said with a good-natured smile. "We're too poor to buy snow for Christmas."

"Shame on you, you rascal!" Thorny said with a chuckle. "Let's just say I haven't found my fortune or lost my shirt. But I am grateful for the Lion's blessings and for my family and having a place to live here with Nickaby. There are folk out there that only get snow for Christmas, but as long as I have breath in my body, it won't be my furlings."

Bramble smiled wistfully. "One crescent is fine, Dad. Really."

"Yes," Star said. "We don't mind being poor."

"I'm never poor when I'm with you," Thorny said, kissing each of them. "Don't go make yourselves sick like you did last time."

*******

I was enjoying the cool crosswind in the tree house with Buck when Bramble came along. He shouted up, "Come down and let's go to the market. This crescent is burning a hole in my paw."

"Not me," Buck said. "I'm going to buy me a new fishing pole."

"Oy!" Bramble shouted. "Your dad must _really_ give you an allowance!"

"I'm not buying it today or next week. But if I keep saving my money I'll be able to have a new fishing pole this fall and we can both fish at the same time. It's like Dad says…for a hundred crescents you could buy yourself a lion and build a big castle…or something like that. Anyhow, I'm going to save my money."

"Hmm, not a bad idea, actually. Not bad at all. And yet…"

"You have a better idea?"

The fox climbed up topside and by the time he reached the platform he had already worked out his sales pitch. "A much better idea, Buck. You don't catch the biggest fish from the bank. Everybody knows that. If we had a boat of our own we could go out in deep water where the big fish are."

Buck shook his head. "At two crescents a week that would take forever! No thanks."

"Not if it was _our_ boat. I have a silver crescent. And I earned a couple more on the side, but don't tell my dad. We could put our money together and it would grow much faster. Mountie, you could go in with us."

I knew skiffs were too expensive even for our combined economic might, and yet I had an idea forming that would top even Bramble's.

"What we need is a coracle," I said. "A boat just like the one Dad uses to check the dam only big enough for the three of us. We put cloth around a wooden frame, then paint it with a bit of pitch and lacquer to seal it and it's ready to go fishing. We can cut the wood ourselves, and all we'd have to buy is the skin."

Both Buck and Bramble nodded in agreement. I was the hero of the hour. My sense of newfound power carried me away. "We save big by doing the work ourselves."

"But we don't know how to make one," Bramble said.

"I do," I said, trying hard not to sound too immodest. "_You two_ bring the money, _I'll_ bring the know-how. The three of us can make this happen, and by fall we'll be out there with the big fish, and might have enough left over for Buck's new pole!"

The badger, who was beginning to like the idea anyway, lit up like a candle. "A boat _and_ a fishing pole! Oh Mountie, that's wonderful!" His father's words came back to him. "The only limit on your dreams is yourself." He reached in his pocket and pulled out the two silver crescents. "Let's do it!"

Buck put his own silver crescents in with Bramble's, and just to be nice about it and help things along, I added a couple to the stash as a gesture of good will. The glittering pile looked impressive. Buck was a good choice to guard it because he had a badger's stubbornness. He proved an excellent choice, for one month later, helped along by some odd jobs, our fortune had grown to 20 crescents!

*******

Buck walked among the many goods for sale in the pawnshop, but his eyes only saw one thing. There was a lovely boat beside the road, the very sight of which made the badger's heart beat faster. The skiff was more than big enough to hold three adults, making it look enormous to Buck. It was freshly painted white with crisp red trim, and as he walked about it, he imagined himself seated at the oars moving out into the center channel of the Wells. Bramble would take off his cap and salute a passing yacht and the pilot would salute back. The wake would rock the skiff a bit but not tip it. Ah yes, such a fine little boat could take a long, leisurely journey down the Wells, then join with the Rush, the Great River, and on to Cair Paravel! Not that Buck was the sort to head off without his parents' approval, but if he could dream of owning such a boat he could surely dream of getting Dad to say 'Be careful and don't get lost!' So Cair Paravel was even bigger than Cutshaw House? Maybe he would drift down and give it a close look, maybe catching a glimpse of the King in the process. And wouldn't it be a fine lark to ride the river clear to the sparkling sea! What a grand thought, to enjoy the castle and a fine sandy beach! Yes indeed, and all seen from the rail of the finest skiff to ever ply the waves!

Someone put a paw on his shoulder. "Dreaming big dreams, are we lad?"

Buck looked around and saw the hare smiling back at him. An embarrassed grin spread across his face. "Dreams is all they are," Buck said, shaking his head. "My mates and I are going to build ourselves a coracle to go fishing this fall. We could never afford something like this."

"Now maybe you can't…and maybe you can. Oh where are my manners? My name is Chumley Hare, and this is my establishment. I set the prices here, and when I like someone, I'm bound to set a better price. It's a weakness of mine, leading to my ruination. I was a furling with big dreams once. And today my bad luck is your good fortune, for I've run into a bit of trouble. I need to sell this boat quickly because my poor aged mum needs her medicine."

"But it's too expensive."

"Grant you, it looks new. And do you know why new boats are expensive? Because you're paying dearly for a little word…new. You buy it, put it in the water, and bring it right back because it's the wrong color or some foolish thing like that and suddenly the new boat isn't new anymore…it's used. Half the value is gone. Same boat, nobody can tell. Still it's the law, you know. So I have to pay only half of what it's worth new as the going rate. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, the urgency of my situation knocks more off the price. I lose money but Mum gets her medicine. Everyone comes out on top."

"Even if I only have twenty crescents?"

Chumley seemed taken aback for a moment. Then he stroked his chin whiskers and one ear drooped. "Ouch. Talk about a hot sale! But it so happens my mum's medicine costs twenty crescents. Not if it were my Uncle Hophorn or even my brother Zebulon, but for Mum I'll strike a deal. Spitshake, lad?"

"But Bramble and Mountie have a say-so."

"Who has the money?"

"I do."

"They trust you, right?"

"Yes, but…"

"The price is going. It's going… going… and…"

Buck spit in his paw and grabbed Chumley's tightly. "Gone!"

*******

Bellweather Otter was kind enough to lend Buck a boat dolly and a strong back. Bellie was a kind fellow anyhow, and he had a soft spot in his heart for furlings, especially when they showed an interest in boats.

"That's odd," he said, pushing the skiff down the road. "I feel like I've seen this boat before, but it didn't have red trim."

"I got it from Chumley Hare."

"Oy, oy! And how much did he charge you for it?"

"Twenty crescents."

Bellie scratched behind his ear with a paw. "Come again?? A three-seater for twenty crescents?? Has he gone mad??"

"It's amazing what you can find when you look for a bargain," Buck said, beaming with pride.

"You're quite sure that wasn't a down payment, son? That was oars and all for twenty crescents?"

"Lock, stock and barrel. He needed the money to buy his mum some medicine."

Bellie laughed. "No doubt he'll spend it on something medicinal. A jack flat, no doubt."

***

When Buck and Bellie finally lugged the boat to the tree house, Bramble stared over the rail at the brightly painted craft for the longest time before he could get out the single, heartfelt word. "Wow!"

"Did I do good?" Buck asked.

"Good??" Bramble said, scrambling down the tree to look at the oars, the nicely coiled painter, and the shiny brass rowlocks. "Buck, you really outdid yourself!"

I was somewhat more reserved. It looked to me like the wreck that washed up on Montgomery's Point and Dad quickly passed it up as salvage because it had dry rot and a hole in the bottom. I tried to warn them, but as Buck was quick to point out, it couldn't be an old wreck because it was like new and freshly painted and had no hole in the bottom. Just as Chumley's sales pitch always is on first hearing. I prayed I was mistaken, but I was pretty sure I wasn't.

*******

There was one passenger missing when "The Adventure" was launched with a great deal of ceremony and shoved off on its first cruise. I was hoping that my remaining onshore would make an impression on Buck and Bramble that the craft needed a thorough inspection before they took it into deep water. But such was their enthusiasm that my words fell on deaf ears. "It's safe," Buck insisted. "You'll see. And think of all the fun you're missing!"

It was scant comfort to me that a rainbow sheen coated the water around the hull. The craft was not coated with waterproof paint, a sure sign it was not checked by an expert. Old Bellie would be having a fit about now.

Blissfully unconcerned, they climbed aboard and, against my advice, headed straight toward the center of the River Wells. At least as straight as Bramble's rowing could accomplish, which was not very straight at all.

Since my protest did no good at all, I agonized for a moment over whether to have Dad take me out in the coracle or not. It never occurred to me that their lack of skills on the water might be more dangerous than the boat itself.

***

Buck and Bramble had spent their life by the river, but they had never experienced how truly grand it was until they ventured away from the bank and entered the volume of it, experienced the quiet strength of it, and thrilled to the thought they were on a silver highway that led all the way to Cair Paravel and the sea.

"Can I row for a bit?" Buck asked.

"_May_ you row for a bit?" Bramble corrected.

"You're beginning to sound like my father."

Bramble laughed. "Tell you what. I'll let you row back to shore."

They had reached the middle of the river where the water was deepest and there they decided to drop anchor and park for a bit to eat lunch. The very thought of eating while moored in the center of the river was an adventure all its own.

Buck dropped the small iron anchor overboard and watched the nicely coiled rope pay out quickly loop after loop.

"Oy!" Bramble said. "I wonder when she'll hit bottom?"

"Or _if_," the badger said, watching the last few coils pay out and then snap taut. The boat continued to drift along with the current. "My my, it _is_ deep, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Bramble said unconcerned. "What's for lunch?"

"Let's see what Mrs. B. packed us. That was uncommonly nice of her to…what's this??"

Buck held up the basket and water poured out of the bottom. "We didn't splash that much into the boat, I'm quite sure…."

It was only then they noticed the white flakes in the pool of water in the floor of the boat. Someone, and Bramble was pretty sure who, had patched a large hole in the bow with plaster instead of cutting new timbers. And as the waterlogged plaster began to give way, it was clear "The Adventure" had a mortal wound.

"We have to go back!" Bramble shouted.

"Oh no!" Buck shouted as a patch the size of a dinner plate gave way and water rushed in.

Bramble began to panic. He grabbed Buck in a crushing embrace. "We're going to die!"

"No we're not! Calm down! The water won't hurt you."

"It killed Momma!"

"She fell through the ice! Don't lose your head, Bramble! We'll swim for it!"

"I _can't_ swim!"

"Not at all??"

The water was rising quickly and had almost reached the gunwales. Bramble began to sob, still clinging to Buck. "I don't want to die!" He drew in a deep gasp and let it out in a wail, tears coursing down his cheeks.

"You're not going to die!" Buck shouted, struggling to free himself from the fox's tight grip. The badger's superior strength was all that kept him from being trapped and drowned by the desperate furling. "Bramble, listen! You have to listen, Bramble!!"

Just then the last bit of support fell out from under them and slipped toward the bottom of the Wells. The hull might have floated but for the anchor's weight. They had nothing to hold to but each other.

Buck treaded water but the fox went under for a moment, then clawed his way up to gasp and sputter. He went down again in mid-shriek only to pop up again, choking on the water he inhaled. "Help me!!"

Buck grabbed the back of the frantic fox's jacket and tried to hold him up while treading water. He looked about at all the water…so much water…that surrounded them. The bank looked so very far away and he despaired of ever reaching it while towing the struggling Bramble behind him. He thought about the tremendous length of rope that could not reach the bottom. Still, he did not have the heart to let go.

Just then he caught sight of Horace Beaverlee paddling frantically toward them in his coracle.

"Over here, Mr. B.! Over here!"

At the last minute I had struck a compromise and asked Dad to keep a close watch on them without making it too obvious. Thank heavens I did. Still I felt a stab of guilt that I wasn't there to help.

*******

Buck and Bramble stepped into Oakley's house, dripping wet and shivering. Jasmine got a couple of towels to dry them off and seated them by the fire, and after they were comfortably situated she went to put on some hot tea.

Oakley asked, "What happened to you?"

"We took out a boat," Buck said. "It sank in the middle of the river and we almost drowned."

"Whose boat? Horace Beaverlee's?"

"My boat."

"But you don't have a boat."

"Not anymore I don't." Buck bowed his head in shame. "I bought a boat from Chumley Hare for twenty crescents."

"Chumley Hare??" Oakley was livid. "That scallywag once faked his own death to get out of paying a debt. He's a dirty cheat and a liar. Whatever possessed you to do business with _him_?"

"It was a bargain. You told me…"

"Yes I know. But I'll tell you something else. Bargains that look too good to be true usually are. Just look at this as a lesson you learned. And be glad nobody was hurt."

"How can I be glad? I scared Bramble half to death. What if he'd died?"

"But he didn't."

"He lost all his money, and it's all my fault." Buck looked up into his father's eyes. "I'll give up my allowance for the rest of the year if you'll please give him back his share."

"I won't take it from you," Bramble said, shivering in his blanket. "You're worth more to me than the money. I'll never forget that you stayed with me, Buck. You're the best."

Buck was deeply shaken, tears in his eyes. "No, you're the best. It was all my fault! I'm just a stupid fool!" He ran off upstairs to his room and quickly closed the door.

Bramble started to follow, but Jasmine gently took hold of his shoulder and shook her head. "He needs some time to himself, son. Let me fetch you some tea and biscuits and you can tell me all about your adventure."

***

Later when it was time for lunch, Jasmine wondered where Buck was. She and Oakley went upstairs. The door to Buck's room was still shut.

Oakley was about to knock but Jasmine waved him off. Instead, he put a paw to his ear and listened at the door. He heard Buck sobbing softly on the bed.

He straightened, wrung his paws, then motioned for Jasmine to follow him downstairs. He went to the closet and got a large walking staff.

"Where are you going with that jackie?"

"I'm going to fetch their money back."

"It's not safe."

"Neither is letting down my son."

*******

Chumley saw the badger coming and put on his usual smile. "Are we here to buy or sell today, sir?"

"I'm here about the white skiff with the red trim."

"I'm sorry, sir. I sold that just this morning."

"Indeed you did. Well it sank in the Wells and nearly killed my boy."

"Oh, so sorry, sir! What a rum bit of luck! Glad the lad is all right."

"Where are my boy's twenty crescents?"

"In the till, where they're going to stay. Sorry sir, but in the pawn trade all sales are final. He bought it of his own free will…nobody forced him to."

Oakley scowled. "If you're wise, you'll hurry up and fetch those twenty crescents of your own free will."

A large bear came out of the shop. "Is someone causing trouble here?"

Chumley crossed his arms smugly. "If you want that refund, sir, you'll have to talk with my associate, Bruno."

The badger went right up to the bear. "Your long-eared good-for-nothing partner sold my son a boat that almost got him killed. I have twenty crescents coming to me and I want every last farthing of it right now."

"Or what?" the bear said, shoving the badger in the chest with a paw. "You're gonna try to crack my head with that stick, short stuff?"

"No," Oakley said, forcefully jamming down the staff on the bear's foot with all his might. The bear squealed, a remarkably high-pitched yell for such a big, burly creature. He hopped about on one back paw. Then Oakley smacked the bear in the stomach, sending him back into a large set of shelves stacked with dishes. Chumley watched in horror as the crockery and the bear ended up in a miserable heap on the ground.

"Oy, oy! You'll ruin me!" Chumley said, starting to run away. "I'll set the Vicar on you, I will!"

He ran straight into Thornton Foxworth.

"Well now," the fox said, grabbing the struggling hare. "Settle down, laddiebuck. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Oakley came over, grabbed the hare's other arm. "Yes indeed. It's not closing time."

"Your worthless boat almost killed my boy," the fox hissed through gritted teeth, nostrils heaving.

"Mine too," the red-eyed badger growled. "No refunds, eh? Well then, what will you give me for this carved oak jackie?" Oakley shoved the end of the walking stick under Chumley's nose. "It's fine qualities should be obvious, or do you need a closer look?"

"No need, sir. Will twenty crescents be enough?"

"Twenty crescents are just right. All sales are final, lad. You run to the vicar and I'll have your charter pulled so fast your head will spin."

*******

Finally we unveiled our new coracle for the folks. The _"Adventure II"_ was a splendid little craft. My dad looked it over thoroughly. "Now that's as yar a craft as ever I saw. Good work, son!" When a beaver says that about a boat, it means a great deal.

Oakley said, "How do you feel, Buck? You have achieved your first big goal. This moment is possible because you showed character and determination."

Buck said, "Me? What did I do?"

Oakley smiled. "You tried to pay Bramble back and you didn't ask me to fight your battles for you. That showed a lot of character. Most importantly, you learned the value of money: it's good, but friendships are much better." Mr. Badger closed his eyes and thumped his head with a paw. "There's something else I'm forgetting. I just know it."

"You already gave me my allowance."

"Then it must be the present I bought you." Oakley gestured toward his wife and Jasmine brought over a nice new pole. It was splendid with metal fittings and a shiny metal reel.

Buck reached out for it with trembling paws, took it lovingly and turned it about to admire it.

"Is that one all right?"

Buck dropped it and mobbed his mum and dad for a hug. As I watched them come together in an embrace, transfixed, I felt my mother's paws resting on my shoulders. I also saw Bramble smile. It was a perfect moment, a thing of rare beauty. Some memories dim with age, but I'll always remember Oakley murmuring, "I love you, you rascal!"


	11. All In a Day's Work

ELEVEN

ALL IN A DAY'S

WORK

Buck and Bramble were in the tree house one summer morning. Buck hummed idly, chewing on a grass stem, staring at the clouds. Meanwhile, Bramble sat on the edge of the platform swinging his legs. He looked at the empty road below and heaved a deep sigh.

Buck looked about. "You're bored."

"What makes you say that?"

"You always fidget when you're bored."

Bramble asked, "What of it? At least I don't do that _humming_ thing."

"That humming thing?"

"Yes, you were just doing it. You never finish that song and it gets stuck in my head. I end up swinging my legs to the beat. Why don't you sing the words, for pity's sake?"

"I don't know the words."

Bramble rolled his eyes. "It figures."

Buck turned about and sulked. "Hmph!"

For two experts in the art of doing "nothing at all," their inventive spirit had failed them.

For several minutes after that, they fought an icy battle of wills, with Bramble still as a statue and Buck silent as a stone. Then when the tension was strong enough to feel, Buck said, "Why don't we see Mountie?"

"Oh absolutely!"

The chilly tension melted at once as they scrambled down the rope and headed for our reservoir. Either they expected some grand idea or they were desperately grasping at straws. I suspected the latter.

***

I was busy out on the dam packing cut branches with mud and had no time to hum or fidget. Bramble showed up followed shortly by Buck. "What are you doing?" the fox asked.

"Fixing a weak spot in the dam."

"Staving off disaster?"

"In a sense yes. Not in one large swoop but in several small acts of care that contribute to a safe and effective control of the water supply. Cracks let water into the dirt turning it into mud. That could eventually lead to a sudden loss of integrity."

Buck whistled. "We can't let that happen."

Bramble scratched his cheek ruffs. "That would be dangerous, right?"

I nodded gravely. "All this would come down on you in less than five minutes." I leaned forward a bit and said in an ominous voice, "There wouldn't be enough left of the dockyards to make a decent toothpick."

Buck whistled. "And your Dad lets you work on it?"

"Why not? I've been raised to do this." I put in another spade of mud and worked it into the cracks between the branches. "We beavers are like that. When chaps like you wonder what you're going to be doing a year from now, five years, not me. I'll keep the reservoir up to standards for the city, have a good wife and furlings of my own, and do my best to leave the world as good a place as I found it."

_(In hindsight, one out of three is not so bad…)_

"Not me," Bramble said. "I'm sure I could make a good innkeeper like Nickaby or my Dad. But I'm going to be a barge captain."

"Really?" I said, snapping to attention and saluting. "Captain Bramblewood Foxworth?"

"Aye aye, Beaverlee. I'll get up when I want and sleep when I want and nobody will tell me what to do or when to do it. I'll drift down the river and see the towns go by."

_(None out of three is more like it, though he did make a grand innkeeper.)_

Naturally both Bramble and I turned to Buck. I should have known something was wrong when he looked down at his feet.

"You never told me what your dad does," Bramble asked, and not unkindly.

"He digs holes and trenches for the town."

"Oh," I said.

Looking back on it, I see a hundred ways I might have reacted that would have been much better. As they say, hindsight is the clearest sight. Buck sat quiet for a bit, and knowing he was embarrassed I tried to engage him in conversation and get his mind off of it. I don't remember anything I said, and I doubt he heard any of it. Before long, he made a polite excuse and left. I wanted to dig a hole myself and fall in it.

***

Buck timidly walked through the formal gardens leading up to Cutshaw House. He'd been on the grounds a couple of times before when the public was there, but without the bustling crowds it seemed much larger. For a very small badger in a very large estate, the feeling crept over him that he might be walking into trouble. Still he was driven onward by a very strong need to dispel his childhood idealism about his father and see the truth firsthand.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He gasped and turned about, but the face was friendly. It was a tall hare in a dusty smock with a pick over his shoulder. "Let me guess, you're the famous Bucky?"

"I'm Buckthorn Badger, if that's who you mean sir."

The hare smiled. "Looking for your Daddy? He's next to the manor house in the rose garden."

"Thank you, sir."

Slightly emboldened by the warm reception, Buck went right up to the imposing stone structure and looked about. He saw his father standing by a fresh earthwork.

"Oy, Daddy!"

"Bucky! Come here, lad!"

He ran to his father's warm embrace for a moment before saying, "Mum said I'd find you here."

"Did she send you after me?"

"No, Dad. I just wondered…I mean…I wanted to watch you at work."

Just then another badger came up. "Well now, if it isn't Bucky!"

Buck smiled. "Everyone seems to know who I am."

The smiling stranger held out a paw. "I'm the assistant foreman. Robby Diggins is my name, but you may call me Southpaw. Everyone else does." As he shook Buck's paw he said, "Your Daddy talks about you all the time. He's very proud of you, son."

Oakley rested a paw on Buck's shoulder. "I sure am. But there's work to be done today. Come on son and stand over there so you won't get underfoot."

"I want to help," Buck said.

"This is hard work."

"So is working on the dam. So is waiting tables. Bramble and Mountie get to help _their_ dads."

Oakley chuckled and stroked his chin. "We can't let them get one over on us, can we?" He picked up a small bucket. "There's some dirt next to that trench that needs to go into the barrow. Think you can move some of it?"

"I'll try."

***

As the workday drew to a close, Wilbur Cutshaw, more commonly known as The Right Honorable Lord Cutshaw, came by. "How goes it, Badger?"

"Just finishing up," Oakley said.

"I didn't believe you when you said you'd do it in a day. But here it is before my eyes! Then again, you are the best at your craft."

"We struck water, Wilbur. Don't worry, we put in a drainage pipe."

"A pipe? Just tell me what that cost."

"We agreed on the price up front," Oakley said. "I don't go back on my word."

Lord Cutshaw smiled. Then he stooped down to look at Buck. "Yours?"

"Yes sir."

"Kind of young to hire, isn't he?"

"Oh, he just showed up and wanted to help. Buckthorn, this is the Right Honorable Lord Cutshaw."

Buck reached out to shake paws, but Lord Cutshaw embraced him. "Helping your Dad, hm? Well the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as we say. Today someone's getting a bonus." The old otter reached into his vest to retrieve a couple of silver crescents and plunked them into Buck's paw. "Don't spend it all in one place."

"Oh no, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Call me Wilbur, son."

Buck straightened with pride. "Someday I'm going to be as good as my Dad."

***

The next time I saw Buck, he was a transformed badger. He had a coil of rope and he was quite anxious to show us a trick. And a splendid trick it was, too. He tied twelve knots in the rope at even intervals and had us hold it out in a triangle with three segments on one side, four on another and five on the third. It formed a perfect right triangle fit for squaring up corners of all sorts. I showed the trick to my father which greatly impressed him, and that was no mean feat.

Bramble never was a barge captain, but when the Moon and Hare Inn fell under his watch, he discovered that she was a grand vessel in her own right, with a gallant, capable crew.

Over the years Buck acquired his father's knack for surveying and working the soil. But most importantly, he learned to measure success in happiness, and prestige in the love of his fellows. In that sense he was as successful as could be.


	12. The Bad Omen

TWELVE

THE BAD OMEN

Bellweather's Bait and Tackle Shop was more than a business, it was a museum of the high seas. There were bits of scrimshaw from the Kalli Islands, a watchman's lantern from the lost Queen of the Wells, and a spyglass that had once belonged to Admiral Critten. However the most interesting exhibit was Bellie himself. Few folk could spin a yarn better than he, and the old otter was in rare form one day, inspired by the rapt attention of his most loyal fans Buckthorn Badger and Bramblewood Foxworth.

"Back when I was in the Navy," he said, "we had this very no-nonsense CPO, a badger named Farley…"

"A badger?" Buck asked with obvious pride.

"Aye."

"What's a CPO?"

"A Chief Petty Officer, of course."

"Oh, how foolish of me!" Buck smiled a bit, then glanced over at Bramble and quietly touched the side of his head with a paw. Bramble shrugged and tilted his head. At least it _sounded_ impressive.

"Farley Trundle was as tough as they came. He hated whiners, shirkers and brass farthings. Problem is, he divided everyone into three groups—whiners, shirkers and brass farthings. We all thought he had a cannonball where his heart should be until one day when his deep dark secret came out."

"His secret?" Buck asked.

Bellie drew near and said in hushed tones, "He had a pot of _geraniums_ in his office. Nice _pink_ ones." He chuckled and popped his hip with a paw. "When word got out, we all made his life unbearable. Slice 'em and dice 'em in the heat of battle, but never overwater the blossoms. Well the next time we pulled into port a bunch of us pooled our resources and bought him a hanging basket of ivy." Bellie cackled with glee, rubbing his paws. "After that, he put in for a transfer he did. The Captain asked him where he wanted to go, and he said _send me anywhere_."

Bramble broke out in a wry grin. Buck, who had petunias on his own windowsill, merely nodded. "Have you ever been in battle?" the fox pup asked. "Ever hacked up any pirates?"

"No, lad. But I was involved in several daring rescues, including the Bainbridge Royal that ran upon the rocks in an awful storm. I boarded her at risk of life and limb to search for survivors. And for that I received the Silver Star, first class."

"Can I see it?" Buck asked.

"Yes, you _may_ see it," Bellie said, anxious to show off the one rule of grammar he'd not broken. "I don't take this out too often, but for my Buck and Bramble, anything goes."

Bellie pulled out a lovely silver star on a sun-faded purple ribbon. Matter of factly, a number of folk had seen it. I think he once showed it to a travelling rope salesman from Tooksbury.

Beaming with pride, the otter said, "This medal was presented to me by the Lord of the Admiralty in Cair Paravel."

Buck reverently touched it with his paw, then looked up at Bellie and smiled. "They don't give out a lot of those, I bet."

"No, lad. They sure don't."

"So you've been all the way to Cair Paravel! My daddy went there once."

"Oh many times. There and beyond. Mates, I've sailed the Great Eastern Sea out all the way out to the Lone Islands." He paused, waiting for a sign of recognition that never came. "Could it be you never heard of the Lone Islands? Well draw up a barrel and sit ye down and I'll tell ye all about it." Bellie spread his paws wide and his hazel eyes sparkled. "Now there are many wonders in His Majesty's realm, but off at its very edge lay the Lone Islands, the crown jewels of the maritime province. They are lovely to behold, especially in the spring. After weeks at sea, they hit you with all the sights and sounds and smells of home, but bigger, better, in a way to make you think you've drifted off into a wonderful dream. The grass is greener, and the flowers, garn, their colors are so bright you can taste them!"

"Oh my," Bramble whispered in awe. "If I ever get the money, I will see them some day."

"Money?" Bellie laughed heartily. "They paid me to see them. Then again, I had to earn my passage, and it was a lot of work. Still, no one has to go to their grave without taking a squint at the Lone Isles. Some folk are just afraid to go there."

Buck asked. "Are there pirates there?"

"Sometimes, but it's not the pirates they're feared of. Hopping islands don't appeal to everyone, laddie. In the back of your mind you know you're surrounded by water, and there's no way back except by boat. Some folk feel trapped…they call it island fever…but I find it very exciting. Everything about the sea excites me."

Bramble had a distant, dreamy look in his eyes. "What's it like being out at sea?"

"Garn, that's like telling desert folk what it's like shoveling snow!" Bellie rested a paw on Bramble's shoulder. "You've been sailing in the Wells, which is a large body of water, but you can always see the bank wherever you go. At Sea, the water stretches all the way out to the horizon. It's like a great desert, except even a desert has hills and valleys and the sea has none. Flat except for the waves. And speaking of waves, they can be so high sometimes that they break over the bow of your ship. Up and down, up and down. You can always spot the new blokes hanging over the rail. And mind you, there's no place to hide. All you can do when a storm comes up is trim the sales, steer into the waves, and pray. When I was in the Navy I went through a great many storms. Still, I loved it." He sighed. "We knew there was an ever-present risk of death, but 'tis better to have lived and died than never to have lived at all. And let me put it to you plainly lad, _I lived_."

Bramble nodded raptly. Bellie was a cunning spider and the fox was caught in his net of wonder. "Bellie, when I grow up, I'd like to be a…"

Something flew right past Bellie's face, startling him. "Garn! What was that??"

"It's a bird," Buck said, his paws clenched tightly. Badgers are rather easy to startle.

"It's that sparrow again," Bellie said, getting his broom. "Trying to steal my bait, the little took!" He began to flail at the gray streak.

"You're not going to swat it are you?" Buck asked.

"Of course not. I just want to push it out. Bramble, open the hatch so I can chase it out."

"The hatch?"

"The _door_."

Bellie flailed about like an angry windmill in March, and the bird in its desperate attempts to flee went everywhere but the door. Then in an awful moment, it landed on Buck's left shoulder.

Bellie gasped. He was well steeped in the lore of the sea. It was a terrible sign. "Stay still, mate. Don't twitch a whisker."

"What's wrong?"

"It's a warning, I tell ye. That bird brings disaster. You have to catch it yourself and say the words of binding or you'll be cursed."

Buck gingerly reached up with a trembling paw, coming ever closer to the tiny creature. Success was almost within his grasp, but at the last moment the bird panicked and flew a few more circuits about the room, then escaped out the door. "Thunderation!" Bellie shouted. "The curse, the curse is upon us! Bramblewood, you should have shut the hatch!"

"But you told me to open it!" Bramble objected.

"That was _before!_" Bellie turned to face Bramble, and as he did his broom hit a stack of glass jars, smashing every last one of them. "Saints be! It's begun already. Buck, you'll have to leave till you can break the curse."

***

"Hrm frmrt uh ermrfl mur." Buck said, with a large apple wedged tightly in his jaws.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" Bramble asked.

Buck swallowed and answered, "No," for he was always a very truthful furling. The badger then settled onto his back and looked up into the crown of the oak tree. Coming to the tree house seemed to help him think clearly, and whenever he had big problems, he would go there. And he had a big problem. "You can go buy bait," he said at last. "You're not cursed."

Bramble shook his head. "You're not either. It's all just a lot of rot. Bellie's a fine chap but he has a lot of odd ideas."

"And a lot of wonderful stories," Buck sighed, reaching for another apple. Then he yipped and dropped the fruit. "Hornet!"

"Hornet??" Bramble asked, edging to the other end of the platform. "Oh I hate those things! Get rid of it before it goes back to tell the others you have fruit up here." The fox kit balled up and cringed as if to make himself so small that the hornet would not notice him. "I knew this would happen, I just knew it."

"Too late," Buck said, pointing. "Look at _that_."

The fox quickly spotted the source of the problem, a large hornet's nest on a nearby branch right behind him. "Garn, we have to get rid of it."

Buck's eyes narrowed and his hackles raised. "I say if they want apples, let's give them apples." He picked one up, then let fly the ruddy missile. Depending on how you look at it, his aim was very good or very bad. Most of the nest came away. The remainder was surrounded by an outraged swarm and within seconds the two aggrieved armies reunited in a yellow storm of fury, obsessed with revenge.

"Hooray!" Buck said. "I hit it on the first try!"

"Have you jumped off the path??" Bramble shouted. "Get down! Now!"

They hurried over the edge of the platform and rushed down the rope in a wink. Still the hornets spotted their retreating oppressors and sounded the charge.

At that moment I was coming along minding my own business looking forward to spending time with Buck and Bramble. Instead I saw them running about in circles, shouting and swatting hornets like a couple of startled hens. "Shake it up, Mountie!"

"To the creek!" I shouted. We ran to the water and jumped into the reeds where we got down and waited for the angry horde to go by. We stayed there a very long time.

After we emerged, I asked Bramble what had happened. He glared at Buck and said "Ask Jonah." I only learned the details later, but his face spoke volumes. Luckily my lodge was nearby. Mum prepared some of her remedy to treat their stings and a few biscuits and tea to treat their mood.

***

Buck and Bramble sat by the side of Silver Creek tossing twigs into the water and watching them float by. Buck sighed deeply, and Bramble sighed back. At least they agreed on something.

"I left the rest of my apples in the tree house," Buck said. "I guess we can't go to there for a while."

"Oh, absolutely," Bramble reminded him. "We can't go fishing either. No bait."

Buck tossed in another stick. "You know, we don't need Bellie's bait just to go fishing. I know a place that's just crawling with worms."

"Really?" Bramble's ears perked up. "It's worth a try. It can't be worse than racing sticks."

"Were we racing?" Buck asked. "If I'd known that, I'd have tried harder to win."

Like all great treasure stories that end up being true, finding the prize was a lot of hard work and a good stretch of the legs. They walked and they walked and they walked, walked, walked through some of the densest thicket near Silver Creek.

Finally, Bramble whined, "Are we lost?"

"No, I know exactly where we are," Buck insisted.

"Yes, we're right here. But where's here?"

"It's just a little further."

"A little further…hmph! Any further and we'll be _importing_ worms."

"Look, there's the stream! See, I told you so."

Buck was halfway right. It was the stream, but the not the crossing he was expecting. The water was deeper and faster. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—a beech tree had fallen across the flood forming a rustic bridge. It had been there a while and the bark was very loose. That did not prevent Buckthorn Badger, who had excellent balance, from scrambling on top and crossing the span in a casual stroll.

"I don't like the looks of that," Bramble said.

"Come on. It's easy. I'll help you if you want."

"No thanks."

Bramble was called upon to defend his honor. He clawed his way atop the tree trunk, dislodging large bits of bark and exposing the slick wood beneath. With ears back and teeth firmly set, he started across.

The badger was alarmed by his unsteady gait. The bark shifted beneath Bramble's feet. "Here," Buck cried, "grab my paws. I'll get you."

"I can do this," the fox said impatiently. Step back."

Bramble careened forward in a mad rush to make it to the end of the log before he lost his balance. He almost succeeded. Buck tried to seize him by the arm, but only lost his own purchase and fell right on top of his friend on the muddy bank.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Buck said.

"Yes, you certainly are. Get off me, you mook!" He shook out his tail, looking rather muddy and bedraggled.

"At least we don't have to go back to fish. There are plenty of good ones here."

"And I suppose we brought our fishing poles?"

"Oh…"

***

The fox and badger sullenly trudged through the wood.

Bramble's ears pricked. "What's that noise?"

"My stomach," Buck said. "I wish I hadn't left the apples in the tree house."

"You feeling peckish?"

Buck nodded morosely. "I have one crescent left. I'll buy something when we get back to town. Maybe something sweet." He felt in his vest pocket for the coin, and he felt and felt. He stopped, tears welling up in his eyes. "No! It can't be!"

"Buck, are you all right?"

"I have a hole in my pocket," he stammered. "It's gone!" Now Buck was not one to cry over a lost coin, but the whole morning was just too much for him.

"I have a crescent I'll lend you," Bramble said. "If you'll stop blubbering, you won't have to pay me back."

Buck wiped his eyes and managed a wan smile. "How about that?"

"Perfect," Bramble said. "See if you can hold it all the way to town."

***

The two friends sat on the side of the Wells. Buck was famished, but he shared his small sack of Calormen cracklers with Bramble. After all, it was the fox's money that bought it.

Buck wished there was something he could do to cheer up Bramble—and himself. Then he saw something he'd seen a thousand times before and never given much mind to. A small green island in the middle of the Wells. It had a few trees on it. Hardly the Lone Isles, and certainly the grass was not greener than green nor did it have flowers whose colors could be tasted. Still, Buck remembered how struck Bramble was with Bellie's tales.

"Bramble, see that little island in the river?"

"Of course. Everyone's seen it."

"I wonder who's ever been on it? Anyone we know?"

Bramble thought a while. Then a smile started to creep across his face. "Us!"

Buck smiled. "Bramble! What a great idea! Let's go fetch the coracle and shove off!" The clouds had lifted and the sun shone again.

***

Hardship Island was very well named. It barely supported a few woebegone trees, some wayward gulls and a modest lantern tower. Its purpose, if we may call it that, was threatening weary barge captains with disaster. That is why Bellie was paid to light the lamp each evening.

However, to Buck and Bramble, that obscure bit of real estate was adventure incarnate. They had used their coracle many times to catch fish but never to truly _go_ somewhere. This was a destination, and that made it alluring.

They shoved off with more enthusiasm than experience. At first Buck and Bramble did not take the current into account. They tried to save effort by crossing the river in the shortest line and got no further than fifty yards before the current swept them far downstream. On their second attempt they began with a long portage upriver before putting in. This time they simply rowed toward the opposite bank and let the flow take them down toward their target. It worked splendidly, and as the moment of landfall drew nearer they felt for the first time in hours that something was going right.

Giddy with excitement they pulled alongside the pier by the lantern post and tied off their vessel. Bramble, not willing to trust their luck, tied the knot doubly tight on one of the pilings. Should the boat have drifted off, there was no way to swim back and no wood for a raft. Their adventure would have come to a rather grim end.

After coming ashore, they paused for a moment to look over the Wells and back at the town of Byron with all its halls and houses and shops. It was an amazing feeling. Bellie was right, there was something exciting about an island!

***

Once they pressed their courage to the sticking point, they split up and walked about the shore in opposite directions so to meet one another on the far side. This amused them for a few minutes. They found treasures—Buck had turned up a large clam shell and Bramble had found a hawk's feather to stick in his cap and a button from a Royal Navy jerkin. Then they found something else, something rustling in the underbrush.

"Snake!" Bramble shouted. Bellie's "risk of death" somehow lost its glamour when seen face to face.

"Make for the boat!!" Buck cried. He did not have to say it twice. As they scrambled around the island, this time together, it seemed so much larger than before. Breathless they hopped into the coracle and prepared to shove off. And they would have shoved off if Bramble's knot had not been tied so tightly.

They worked frantically until they came to the conclusion they would have to cut the rope…and they would have cut the rope if they'd brought a knife—which of course they had not. Eventually in a moment of clarity Buck slipped the loop off the top of the piling and they shoved off with a deep sigh of relief.

The current in the center of the river was strong, and they knew by the time they reached the riverbank they would have a long walk home carrying the boat on their shoulders. Bramble looked up from his paddling to say, "My my, you really _are_ a Jonah!"

***

After a long sleepless night, Buck and Bramble went back to the source of their troubles to get some answers.

Bellweather's shop was decked with talismans to ward off bad luck. There were lit candles in all the windows despite the bright day. The door was hung with a wreath of wild herbs and was closed tight, which was unusual for that time of day. If there was any doubt Bellweather Otter was as superstitious a creature as ever breathed, the proof was all over his walls.

Bramble ventured up to the door and knocked. "Bellie? Are you in there?"

"Bramble, is that you?"

"Yes sir."

"Is Buck with you?"

"Yes sir."

"Then go away! If you love me, just go away!"

"We won't come in," Buck said. "We just want to talk!"

"Come back when it's safe! I'm rather fond of ye lad. Don't take it personal like, but shove off before you jinx my shop!"

Buck opened a window. "Can't you tell us how to fix the curse first?"

The incoming rush of fresh air put out the candle and Bellie was quick to relight it. "I don't know, lad. I truly wish I did. You'll have to see the vicar." He glanced over at the fox. "In the meanwhile, Bramble, you'd best wear this." He tossed out a small bag on a string, then slammed the window and pulled down the shade.

Bramble picked up the pouch. He could tell by the reek that it was pitch, asafetida and sour apple. It was disgusting, but Bramble considered for a moment hanging it about his neck. Then he stopped, looked at Buck's hurt expression and tossed it away. "Garn, you wouldn't hurt me, no matter what. Not your Bramble."

"Never," the badger said, a smile warming his face. "You're my best mate."

"I'm your blood brother," the fox pup replied, smiling back. "Now let's see the Vicar before you get me killed—by accident."

***

Vicar Chios' lunch was getting cold, but he did not seem to notice. His occasional visits from Buck and Bramble were always interesting, but the tale unfolding in his parlor was odd even for them and he had to struggle to wear his serious face.

"Even I have never been to Hardship Island," he said at last. "And from what you say, I'd never go there."

"You wouldn't like it," Buck said earnestly, spreading his paws wide. "Some of the snakes are _that long_."

"It's a wonder you made it back all right," Chios said with a nod, neither being critical nor laughing at their naiveté, but sitting a few moments deep in thought. "My lads, there are some dark corners of the world where curses and maledictions hover like a black shadow, but by and large we make our own luck. Your problems were the result of bad decisions. Deep inside you knew better than to go out to Hardship Island or to throw apples at a hornet's nest. Common sense is always there telling you right from wrong, but you have to practice listening to it. And remember what I said: for the most part you make your own luck, good or bad."

"Does that mean I'm not cursed?" Buck asked.

"I daresay." The old faun mussed the badger between the ears, then took a silver crescent from his pocket and slipped it into his paw. "See, your lost coin has come back to you. Your luck has changed already."

***

They wanted to go back to see Bellie, but had to contend with the otter's superstitions. But how to get in and convince him that they are not cursed? Just then Buck had an idea. He took the silver crescent from his vest pocket and showed it to Bramble. "See, I have a lucky coin that will break the curse."

"I didn't hear Chios say it was lucky."

"Remember what the vicar said? You make your own luck. So I made my own lucky coin."

Bramble was impressed. "Isn't that a little bit like telling a lie?"

The badger smiled. "Not really. If it gets me in to see Bellie, then it _will_ be lucky."

Bramble smiled back. "Sometimes you amaze me."

***

When they showed up at Bellie's they were surprised to see the windows open and no candles. The wreath was gone from the door as well. Buck went up to the door and knocked.

When Bellie answered, Buck said, "Please don't slam the door. I have something important to tell you."

Bellie bent down and put a paw on Buck's head. "I learned something, my little furling. The worst luck in the world is being without the folk you care for. I don't care if you _are_ a Jonah. I'm lonely without my little friends."

Buck came forward and put his arms around the old otter. "I missed you."

"I missed you too. Terribly." Finally when he got his composure back, Bellie asked, "So what was this important thing you wanted to tell me?"

"That was it," Buck said, resting his face against Bellie's. "I missed you."


	13. Points of View

THIRTEEN

POINTS OF VIEW

It was April, and nature kept her promise to the dormant energies of Spring. With the melting of the snow, verdant life returned to the empty branches, and from the carpet of forgotten leaves sprung an army of sprigs and sprouts which reveled in the vernal warmth. Birds renewed their ancient songs and folk would linger in the avenues to chat rather than hurrying to the refuge of hearth and home. There was still a touch of cold in the air, but it hardly chilled the enthusiasm of our winter weary hearts.

Bramblewood and I joined the throng, enjoying the freedom of the open countryside. We were fishing by Silver Creek and waiting for Buckthorn Badger who was bringing lunch. In fact, we had been waiting a very long time. My stomach began to complain and Bramble grumbled about being hungry.

"I need to move," the fox pup said at last.

"If we do, Buck won't know where to find us."

"I'm not going, I'm moving. I can't feel my tail."

"Me too." Bramble stood and stretched, but I sought relief in Silver Creek, diving into the water for a good swim. It got the blood racing and was just what I needed. "That's the ticket! I got my tail back!"

Bramble looked surprised. "Can you swim this early?"

"Oh sure, come in! The water's fine!"

The first dive of the season is a very special thing. Bramble didn't just tuck in like me, he went running down the bank and yelled "LOOK SHARP!" as he launched himself into the flow.

After the splash he yelled again, only it wasn't "Look sharp".

Matter of fact, to a beaver like me, used to swimming under the ice at midwinter, it was a fine day for a swim. But the fox sputtered and gasped and threatened horrible vengeance as he hightailed it back to the bank, dripping and looking miserable.

"At least you're not hungry anymore."

He paused, a curious expression on his face. "You're right, but it wasn't worth it."

Then along came Buckthorn Badger. Suddenly Bramble had an idea. He put on a brave smile.

"What have you been up to?" Buck asked.

"Oh, just had a good swim in the creek." Bramble shook off. "Won't you join us?"

"Really? Is the water warm enough?"

"It's fine! Come on in!"

Buck, being a badger and less prone to impulsive behavior, sat down the picnic basket, went to the edge and gingerly dipped a toe in the water. "Brrr! No thanks!"

"You're a very sensible creature," Bramble said, patting the badger on the back, then shoving him into the icy water. "That will teach you to be late with lunch."

It was funny for a bit, but Buck and Bramble started shivering and needed shelter quickly. We headed home where they could huddle next to Mum's cooking fire and dry off while we ate lunch.

***

"You shouldn't be swimming this early in the season," Mum said solicitously, applying a fresh towel to the badger's ears. "You're not built for it."

"Tell Bramble that," Buck said.

"Tell _**Mountie**_ that," Bramble said.

Dad walked in for lunch, wiped his feet on the rush mat, and passed by with a sidelong glance at Buck and Bramble. I could tell by his demeanor he was irritated about something, but assumed it was the branches that were stuck in the spillway.

My father was not hateful but he was often indiscrete and tended to say whatever he thought. I was not anxious to have Dad put his latest bellyache on display in front of my friends, so right after we passed Mum's inspection, we headed back out to the tree house. Safe and warm, we had a good laugh about the morning's events and a long talk about nothing important.

At the same time Mum and Dad were having a long talk about something very important.

***

To understand what follows, you must know something about beavers. We tend to stay in our own community, not unfriendly or standoffish but very caught up in our own affairs. We are not just a race but a way of life governed by customs, agreements and laws. When one of us transgressed, the guilt was collective, and when one of us failed, the shame fell on the community.

Dad paced about the table in a state of barely suppressed agitation. "He's not lazy. No beaver is _**ever**_ lazy. But he's growing more like the fox and badger every day. When I try to teach him things he needs to know, it's like his mind is miles away fighting the Calormens, rescuing princesses or sailing to Cair Paravel. You know what he likes? Tree houses, Crystal! When I was his age, I wasn't climbing trees."

"No," Mum said gently but firmly. "When you were his age, you had to care for your ailing father." She made a pretence at cleaning the table from lunch. "Buck and Bramble are kind and good. You should be grateful Mountie has a chance to be young before he's old, and that he runs about with good hearted chaps instead of those awful Kelty brothers."

"I am grateful and I really do like Buck and Bramble, but things would have been very different around here if Sam had lived." Dad sighed deeply. "Mountie needs to spend some time with other beavers his age. I've been talking with Woodly about giving him a week's holiday."

"A week??"

"A nice visit with Woodrow and Rainbow with no strings attached. And whatever happens will happen. The Aspinalls are fine folk. Surely you can't object to a week away?"

"You mean a week away from Buck and Bramble."

"I didn't say that."

"I know," she replied, putting her arm around his shoulder. "But you were thinking it."

"What if I was? They don't understand the weight of responsibility we bear! Crystal, I'm not going to live forever, and I want to know that our son can handle things when I'm gone!"

"Horace, calm down before you work yourself into an attack…"

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then added in a softer tone, "What's going to happen to him when he has to clear the spillway, chink the cracks and clean the reservoir? His head is full of names and dates he'll never get to use, and places he'll never get to go. It's wrong for him to get stirred up about dragons and castles and tropical isles. He'll never have any of those things, and he'll grow old grieving for them. I never had those things, and I had to learn not to think about them to keep my sanity."

"Oh Horace!" She touched his cheek with her paw. "Aren't you happy here with me?"

He put his arms around Mum and kissed her. "Very happy, old girl. Very. This is my castle, you are my queen and the reservoir is my sea. I want Mountie to be happy too, and he can find happiness if he looks in the right places. There's the big world out there and there's our own world right here. He needs to realize he can't have both."

That was perhaps the most ironic phrase my father ever uttered, and it has often haunted me.

***

I tried hard to be excited about visiting the Aspinalls. It was my first overnight trip away from home and my first chance to spend more than a few hours with Woodrow. Yet I knew the seven days would feel more like seven weeks without my books, my parents and my dear friends.

At least I had my favorite book. In a way that one tome was a symbol of the whole struggle. Squire Holling's excellent "Tales of Explorations and Perils" was not only fun to read but valuable. You see, I had to do odd jobs to raise the purchase price. I raked a lot of leaves last fall, but it was worth every stroke. First Dad objected to me bringing along something to read when I should be "enjoying myself", only to find that Mum had slipped it into my rucksack on the sly.

When I unpacked my belongings, Woodrow spied the book with its lovely leather binding and snatched it up, holding it upside down. He flipped through it quickly, then sat it back down. "It has no pictures in it. What good is a book without pictures?"

Woodrow, to his loss, did not realize that the book was full of pictures. In those words lurked moonlit nights in Archenland, misty mornings in the Lone Islands, clashing swords, bowing lords, kings and pickpockets.

After "enjoying myself" for the first day, and a tedious conversation with Woodrow and Rainbow that we all endured with the painted smile of a ragdoll, I retreated to the parlor where my makeshift bed had been set, lit a candle and attempted to hide myself away in an exciting chapter. There I mounted an hour's valiant struggle against despair until I surrendered. Defeated, I blew out the candle, laid on my makeshift bed and wept myself into a fitful sleep.

***

The next day Woodly was setting out for the Moon and Hare Inn to pay his bill. Beavers, you see, are the only creatures allowed credit there, because they are hard working, reliable and they can't exactly sneak off with the pond. With barely suppressed excitement and desperation I offered to run the errand myself. Aslan heard my prayer that Woodly would accept my help and suspect nothing.

I did not realize how much the strain had affected me till my paw trembled on the door latch at the inn. I glanced about through the lunch crowd looking for Bramble. He was nowhere to be seen, but I did peek into the kitchen and spy his father Thorny stirring the soup.

"Well met, young fellow! You've been gone only a day but Bramble really misses you." I felt a knot rise in my gut at the words. "So how's the holiday?"

"The Aspinalls are very good to me," I said in the most cheerful tone I could force. "There's a lot to see and do, and I feel…" Tears began to run down my cheeks. "Oh Mister Foxworth, I want to go home!"

Thorny puts his arms around me and held me. "Homesick are we? I understand. It's your first trip away, I warrant?"

"Yes sir."

"It's always the worst. But I think it will be good for you if you stick it out and be brave. Face it with a smile. After all, before you know it you'll be coming home."

"Home," I said longingly. The word was both a soothing balm and a sharp dagger.

"You've been good to Bramble and Star, and if you ever need a friend to talk to, look me up. Any time at all." He glanced back at the soup and began to stir it hurriedly. "Well, any time within reason…"

***

The second night was a lot nicer than the first. Woodrow saw me reading intently and wondered what could be so interesting. So I read him chapter 12, "The Curious Tale of the Cadwalader Dragon". He was fascinated, and suddenly the key was placed in my paw. I was once again the master of my fate.

Thereafter I read the whole family a chapter each night by the flickering firelight. They were mesmerized by the Squire's potent prose and liked that I read the parts with different voices. My impression of the old sea captain had Rainbow practically on the edge of her seat. I was simply imitating the way Bellweather Otter would relate his own experiences on the high seas.

By day I would strive to please, even as I worked to please my father. Everything that was expected of me as a courteous guest, and a great deal more besides, I did with a smile. Still it was obvious that my talents as an actor were greater than my skills as an engineer. The Aspinalls saw that I did my best in both arenas, and that's all that mattered to them.

***

On the last full day of my visit, Woodly Aspinall took me out in his canoe at the pretext of fishing for dinner. Yet moments after he first baited his hook he said, "I understand you had a twin brother."

"Sam. He died when I was just a month old."

"Yes. It nearly broke your poor Mum and Dad's heart." He cast his line. It was a beautiful cast. "When you lived, and they were relieved because they knew the place would be in good keeping when they were gone. Had your brother had not died, one of you would have been the master of Beaverlee Lodge, and the other would go out into the world to make his own way. Mountie, you grew up an only child, but you stand to inherit the Beaverlee Lodge and Reservoir. You have land, water, a home, and one of the best teachers in all of Byron. The map to your future success is spread out, my boy, but it's up to you to follow it."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Mr. Aspinall, why are you telling me all this?"

"Maybe I shouldn't say anything, but my Rainbow thinks the very moon and sun rise and set by you. There is a chance that someday I will be able to call you son and you'll be able to call me dad. I love Bobo and knowing that she had someone as good and kind and noble as you for a husband would let me go to home to my fathers with no worries and no regrets."

"You're most kind," I stammered. Then I heard myself ask a question that I would have never dared asked my own father. "Why do we have to do all this? My friends get to choose what they'll do for a living. I don't get to choose what I want. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it's not fair that I'm getting stuck with…" I looked down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out that way. Beavers have a lot to be thankful for."

"Oh we're stuck with it, my boy, and don't be afraid to tell it as it is. Even Aslan got stuck with dying for a traitor. We all have our stone to drag though for some of us it's a little less obvious. But we also have our joys. Sometimes I get out in my canoe to clean the reservoir and right in the midst of doing my job I look around at the trees when they change color and see how beautifully they reflect in the water. What is poetry anyhow? You write it on paper, but I write it in the way I kiss my wife. You read it in books and I read it in the wind. Poetry lurks everywhere, and you know why? Aslan created the world with his singing, and the music still echoes. It's all in your point of view."

That genuinely surprised me. I thought only I and a few of my friends felt that way. If I hadn't been in a canoe at the time, I would have hugged him.

From that moment on my stay was a lot less gloomy. I even had a chance to go lawn bowling with Woodrow and teach Rainbow some constellations. Where I couldn't imagine it a week ago, I knew I would feel sad when I left.

I was touched on my last night there when Woodrow told us story by the fire. I knew the tale myself—it was a time honored bit of beaver lore—but he wanted to impress me. I was overjoyed to be accepted, but more importantly, I was also greatly relieved.

***

When I got home it was clear that Mum and Dad had missed me as much as I missed them. They sent me upstairs "like a good lad" and spoke privately with my host. I managed to overhear snatches of what Mr. Aspinall told my father. It's amazing what you can hear coming up through the stovepipe if it's not too hot to press your ear against it.

"You worry too much, Horace," Woodly said. "I think you're spending so much time on the buck he'll be someday and too little on the young chap he is right now. Remember, you don't have to put the greatness in him, just help him bring out the greatness that he has inside. And he has a lot of greatness. It seems he's had a marvelous pair of teachers."

"Buck and Bramble?" Dad suggested.

"No. You and Crystal. And we'd be glad to have him back anytime you'd like, but not to change him into you or me or Woodrow. There's only one Mountebank Beaverlee, and that's how things were meant to be."

After that talk my father worried less and smiled and laughed more in our time together. He restricted his frequent lecturing to the occasional friendly chat, and yes, the occasional cuffing. Mum in her own way helped make sure that Dad's progress was not reversed. Those smiles and chuckles he shared with me are all the more precious because their memory comforts my old age. Thank you Woodly. Thank you Mum. Thank you Daddy, wherever you are.


	14. The Stranger

FOURTEEN

THE STRANGER

One hot August day, Buck, Bramble and I were out fishing by the Wells. The air was oppressive, the sun spiteful, and the only things biting were the desperate mosquitoes. Bramble panted, Buck trailed his feet in the water and I huddled under the scant shade of a willow, swatting at uninvited guests.

Just when we were ready to give up "enjoying ourselves" and take refuge in the tree house, Bramble saw something floating by the bank. Buck said it was probably a bit of rubbish, but I thought it might be some cargo that fell off a boat. That piqued Bramble's interest, and he was off, eager to claim the reward. Buck and I just sat there in the sweltering heat, too tired to care.

Then Buck had a tug on his line. The heat was forgotten in the hurly burly. He fought to bring in his catch while I fetched the net—an old flour sack. "Look at this!" the badger shouted, pulling from the water one of the largest pavenders I'd ever seen. It was a beauty.

When we spotted Bramble running back, Buck shouted, "You mook, you missed all the excitement!" He proudly held up his prize. "Have you ever _seen_ such a fish!"

Then I saw Bramble had returned without a treasure of his own. "Was it only rubbish?" I asked. He stared at me with a stunned look on his face, his ears laid tightly back. "What was it, Bramble?"

The fox wrung his paws tensely. "It's a dead body."

***

The gruesome discovery caused quite a stir. Bramble was pestered by curious folk wanting to know more about the stranger. All he was allowed to say was, "The Vicar will speak this evening." Yet he was free and open with his old friends in the _Club With No Name_. After all, we were there.

He described to us in lurid detail the buck hare he saw floating face down with torn garments and something clutched tightly in his right paw. What exactly that was, Bramble wasn't plucky enough to find out, and we didn't blame him.

Dad was called to a special meeting of the Town Council. Over the years I learned quite a lot from my father, who often came home from council meetings bound by official silence, but then bit by bit telling Mum the whole sordid tale in "strictest confidence." This meant she wouldn't tell a living soul—except me—and only in "strictest confidence." And other than Buck and Bramble, and sometimes Woodrow Aspinall, I never told another living soul. And of course I always told them in "strictest confidence." That's how rumors spread in Byron till they finally reached Hamilton Barkby, the last one to know anything.

This was not the first body found in the Wells, nor would it be the last. Our river was beautiful but it was also wild. It brought us commerce but it also overran its banks at times and at certain spots it wreaked havoc with small craft. On occasion the spring thaw would reveal some hapless soul who fell through the ice. One was a scoundrel who dealt in stolen goods. (He might have swum to safety had the ropes not been so tight.) This latest victim was a mystery. He was not from around here.

The counselors all sat under the Great Oak. Even in its ample shade they used whatever they could scrounge as makeshift fans.

Vicar Chios revealed there were no signs of violence. "I'm ready to rule out foul play and register the death 'Cause unknown, probable accident'. Without a murder inquiry we'll all be home by supper." Everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief. "He was wearing a naval uniform. His purse had five silver crescents and two brass farthings. Otherwise, there was nothing to identify him except that one of his eyes has a larger patch of color than the other."

Buck's grandfather Darby Diggins thought it might have been a burial at sea gone wrong, but Bellweather Otter shrugged that off. "The Wells is not a sea."

Lord Cutshaw weighed in. "I think we can all agree on two things. This poor creature died in the service of His Majesty the King. He deserves a decent burial. And in this blasted heat we'd better do it in a wink or face the consequences."

As a military sort, Wilbur knew the importance of a decent leave-taking for our brave lads taken young. He agreed to pay half of a state funeral and to provide an honor guard from the Black Diamond Brigade. And rather than being placed in a pauper's grave, our sailor would be laid to rest in the hallowed ground next to the Bell Tower.

Father was sent to inquire upriver about our stranger, clear to Farthingdale if need be. Even though he was given a generous traveling allowance, the thought of going out of town put him in a bad mood, something that I did not understand until it was my turn. Beavers don't like travel, and they hate sleeping in a strange bed.

***

The widow Catherine Longshanks and my mother performed the delicate task of cleaning the body. When he was properly dried and brushed and his paws crossed solemnly over his chest, he looked too good to be buried in his tattered clothing. Catherine fetched one of her late husband's suits, his favorite one, and took pains to make everything look just so. After dressing him, she spread a white cloth over a large table and arranged the hare on it with a blue blanket up to the waist and a pillow under his head. He no longer looked dead, merely peacefully asleep. She checked the results one last time, then put her paws over his and wept. My mother, who was her best friend, held her tightly.

His expression was noble and serene. Everyone that saw him was deeply moved by the sad beauty of his youthful promise untimely broken. He stopped being referred to as "the body" but rather as "our poor friend." All the inner beauty of Elgin and Catherine Longshanks seemed to radiate from him.

Eventually a donation showed up sitting next to him on the table. That opened the floodgates. Generous townsfolk, many of them poor themselves, gave according to their conscience. The offering was to go to the poor. Bramble came up with his allowance for the week and dropped it in. "After all, I found him," the fox said. "He's part my responsibility."

***

Father had been gone for three whole days. He was so glad to be back that even in front of me he met Mum at the door with a kiss that would curl the branches of an oak tree.

"You'll never guess what I found out," he said excitedly. "Just wait till I tell the Vicar!" He paused a moment for suspense, then in a low voice he said, "His name was Wallace Hophorn. He had run away from home at an early age because he refused to help his father. He caused no end of trouble in Farthingdale, then was dragged before the local magistrate over non-payment of his debts. He had two choices: go to prison or join the Royal Navy. So he was on shore leave in Farthingdale when he walked into the Flying Phoenix, got roaring drunk, and when the pub keeper refused to bring him more ale he stumbled out to the river to wash his face. He must have fallen in. Guess he got what was coming to him." Dad nodded firmly and crossed his arms. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, I always say."

Mother slumped and buried her face in her paws.

"Here, what's this?? Crystal?? You're crying!"

"You'll break poor Catherine's heart!" Mum sobbed. "They are planning a state funeral for him! They want to bury him next to the Bell Tower. The service is in an hour. Horace, everyone is going to be there!"

"State funeral? By the Bell Tower? When you don't even know who he is?? Has the whole town jumped off the path?"

She looked up, locking eyes with my father. "No, Horace, they've come to it. Even the feud between Jack Kelty and Bellie ended when they saw him lying there looking so saintly in Elgin Longshanks' jacket. Jack said life was too short to waste it fighting. Jack Kelty of all folk to say a thing like that! If you tell them what you told me, it will be a blight on the whole town!"

"Well I can't very well lie to the Vicar. I'm acting under orders from the council, upholding my sworn duty!"

"I'm not asking you to lie, dear. Remember that hideous hat Marsy Aspinall wore to the last Beaveree? She came up all smiles and asked me what I thought of it and I said it was very interesting and really picked up the color in her eyes? That was the truth, Horace. _I just knew when to stop._"

***

Dad put on his dress jacket and went to find the Vicar. He had to push through an enormous crowd. Mum was right—everyone was there.

"Horace! Well met, old boy! Come over and take a look at him…doesn't he look grand?"

Catherine was by the body. Dad looked at the serene prodigal son in his new suit and realized what had happened. All the goodness in Catherine was reflected in him like a pool. Everyone saw their own innocence and courage. As Dad looked at him, he saw his own compassion. It gave him the strength to do a very generous thing.

"His name was Wallace Hophorn. His friends called him Wally. He has no family…at least he didn't till today." He glanced back at the Widow Longshanks. "Katie, he really looks splendid in Elgin's jacket."

She began to weep softly and the two of them embraced. Through her tears, Catherine stammered "He was so young! What a waste!"

"Yes, a terrible waste..."

Everyone waited patiently, and if anyone suffered from the hot sun they did not complain. Wallace Hophorn's casket was ornately carved, made free of charge by Bellweather Otter who did a hitch in the service himself. At the Vicar's signal, the lid was placed on with a few well-placed nails. They draped over it the lion banner that flew over Town Hall. The honor guard of four otters looked smart, their uniforms clean and well pressed, their ceremonial swords and the regimental bugle shined until it gleamed mirror bright.

The vicar said a few words about the meaning of courage. Mindful of the heat, he kept his remarks brief. Then the honor guard folded the flag, gave it to the mayor, and solemnly lowered the casket into the open grave to the roll of a marching drum. Caps were doffed, heads bowed, and the silence was broken only by a distant baby's cry. After a moment, the Vicar said, "Peace be with you all," and we began to file away as the four honor guards doffed their jackets and grabbed shovels. Wallace Hophorn—and his sordid past—were laid to rest.

***

For a time—a rather long time—I had mixed feelings about having the scoundrel buried by the Bell Tower. Despite all my parents' good intentions, I thought about the bleached bones of our young warriors, scattered in the sands of Calormen, their lives laid down for our behalf. I thought about Lord Cutshaw, whose brother was slain by a nameless Markaan. How would he have felt about paying half the funeral cost for an outcast? When I would go to the Bell Tower on Remembrance Day, I would avert my gaze from the monument. When some of the furlings would lay a wreath of flowers on the grave a knot would tighten in my gut. _Oh, if they only knew!_

Then one day, long after I had replaced Chios as Vicar of Byron, an elderly hare showed at the vicarage needing my help. She would only say her name was Maureen, and that she came because she heard Wallace Hophorn was buried in our town. I took her to the grave site and read her the inscription on the marker. "Seaman First Class Wallace Hophorn. Perished in the Line of Duty."

Had her features not given her away, I still would have recognized a mother's tears. She knew the whole sordid truth and yet she still loved him. As I watched her, transfixed, those healing tears washed away all my misgivings. From then on, his grave was a monument to the awe inspiring power of forgiveness.

Rest in peace, Wally.


	15. Relatively Speaking

FIFTEEN

RELATIVELY

SPEAKING

Jasmine Badger answered her front door to find a fox pup standing on the porch, fishing pole slung over his shoulder.

"Good morning, Bramble!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Badger! Is Buck in?"

"Yes, Dear, but he can't go fishing today."

"Is he sick?"

"No, he's getting ready to see Grandpa Darby and Grandma Jessie."

"Oh…" Bramble scratched his cheek. "I didn't know he had grandparents."

"He has two sets. Darby and Jessie Diggins are my parents, and Hunter and Linden Badger are Oakley's."

"Isn't Darby Diggins the skollers champion at the Moon and Hare?"

"Yes, that's my Daddy! I was once his little girl."

Bramble smiled and shook his head. "Garn!"

"Well I _was_. Bramble, we're all little at least _once_."

"I know. It's just hard to imagine you skipping rocks and playing brigands."

"I didn't. I sang songs, danced and made daisy chains."

Bramble giggled again. "Daisy chains? Garn!"

"Well, I _did!_" Jasmine laughed, mussing him between the ears. "You're tugging my tail, you little tookie! You'll have Bucky back tomorrow and you can pull your japes on him!"

"What am I supposed to do till then?"

"Why not visit your _own_ grandparents?"

***

Thornton Foxworth was sweeping out the kitchen when Bramble tugged at his apron. "Dad, would you do me a favor?"

"That depends."

"Will you take me to see my grandparents? I've never met them."

Thorny sighed. "Now Bramble, you _know_ my Mum and Dad died in a fire before you were even born."

"Yes, but how about Mum's side of the family? Mrs. Badger says your mum's folks are grandparents too. Everyone has two sets."

"Not everyone," Thorny said with a frown. "Other than your sainted mother, the only Hedgely that ever did right by us was your Aunt Holly. I'll take you to visit her if you like. The rest of them want nothing to do with us and we want nothing to do with them."

"But Dad, I was just thinking…"

"Too much thinking can give you a headache, especially if it's about Hedgelys. Now run along son—I have work to do."

Thorny returned to his cleaning with a stony silence and Bramble knew better than to press the issue.

***

Nickaby Otter noticed Bramble sitting in the lobby next to a skollers table, moving the stones about idly, and he went and sat next to him. "Best two out of three?"

"I don't feel like playing now…thanks much."

"Oh, someone is having a bad day. Want to talk about it?"

Bramble sighed. "What's the use? I've never met my grandparents, and Dad won't take me."

"How can he? They died before you were born."

"I'm talking about my _other_ grandparents. Nobody ever talks about the Hedgelys."

"Because they never talk about _us_." Nickaby rested an arm about Bramble's shoulder and held him close. "If you need a grandfather, come see me. You know how I feel about you."

"I know," Bramble said, leaning his face on Nickaby's shoulder.

"I raised your daddy. He was no older than you when he came here so lonely and lost after the fire. Elsie and I…you remember Elsie don't you?"

"Yes. She used to sing me that song about the yellow bird and sneak me treats in the kitchen."

"At least I knew about the song," the old otter said with a smile. "Treats, hmm? Well she loved you and oh she loved your daddy. She sang that song to him, and I bet she sneaked him treats too… When he had night terrors, which he often did, she would set up in her rocking chair and hold him, rocking back and forth, with no sound but a slight squeak in the chair. It was very peaceful. The next morning, I'd sneak in and find them asleep in each other's arms." He put a paw around Bramble's shoulder. "And when Elsie…" Nickaby squeezed Bramble's shoulder. "When she passed on, Thorny was there for me. Everything I ever gave that lad, he gave me back more. We've always leaned on each other, the Otters and the Foxworths. We're a family because we act like one. That's why your father is so angry with the Hedgelys. To him family is not something you _are_, it's something you _do_. And when Clara died, the Hedgelys did _absolutely nothing_. They wouldn't even come to the wake."

"Aunt Holly came."

"That she did. But she's the exception."

Bramble shifted uncomfortably. "If it's wrong to see them, I won't go."

"See them?" Nickaby winced a bit but idly stroked him with a paw. "I should have guessed you'd try something like that. Well, I think a lad has a right to settle the question in his own mind. Of course you don't have to exercise that right. And if you do, I _certainly_ wouldn't tell Thorny if I were you. He might not be so broad minded, and I can't say I blame him after what he's been through."

Bramble looked up into Nickaby's warm, understanding eyes. "Maybe things have changed. The Vicar says 'Time heals all wounds.'"

"I suppose anything is possible. But don't get your hopes too high." The old otter leaned over and said in a low voice, "They live in the large white house at the corner of Arbor and Newmarket. But this is _your_ monkey run, and if they break your heart, don't say I didn't warn you. And remember, _it's our_ _secret_."

***

By the time Bramble reached the intersection it was almost noon and he was footsore, parched and panting.

There were four corner lots but only one large white house. It was a rather well kept dwelling with tidy shrubbery, colorful flower boxes and a neatly thatched roof with no patches to be seen. That had to be it.

Bramble was relieved in one way, but tense in another. If he backed away then, he could go on not knowing, which might be better than bad news. Yet since he had come that close, he gathered his courage to approach, went up to the door and knocked.

When no one answered the door at once, he actually felt a sense of relief. Perhaps it was a sign from Aslan, and he could accept that. He turned and started to go.

Just then an elderly vixen answered the door. "Yes?"

He turned. "Hullo, I'm Bramble."

She looked puzzled. "Bramble? Should I know you?"

He took off his cap. "I hope this is the right house. I'm Clara's son Bramblewood Foxworth."

"Oh. This is the right house." Her face seemed do drop. "You look hot and tired. I suppose you ought to come inside and have a cool dipper of water."

"Thanks much, Ma'am."

"Is _he _with you?"

"You mean Dad? No ma'am."

Bramble did get a cup of water, but what he thirsted for was not to be found. He realized there would be no big hug for him and his heart sank a bit. As he glanced about at the fine furnishings, the paintings of serious foxes with tabards and breastplates, he realized these folks were well to do. He felt out of place, a feeling he was not used to and which he did not like. It wasn't just the soft carpet and the suits of armor against the wall. Lord Cutshaw had such things, but they never made Bramble squirm inside. Maybe it was the way Wilbur Cutshaw smiled, shook your paw, or asked you how you were like he really wanted to know.

Mrs. Hedgely's face was strangely reminiscent of Clara's, and it seemed entirely possible that his mother might have looked like her in the years she was denied. She discretely studied Bramble's face as well, as if looking for some trace of her daughter. Finally she said, "You have your mother's eyes."

"So I've heard." He shifted his feet nervously. "You do too. So is this the house what she grew up in?"

"Yes, this is the house where she grew up."

"Please tell me about my Mum."

Mrs. Hedgely glanced at the floor and rubbed her cheek with a paw in a way much like Bramble. "She has a sister named Hollyberry and a brother named Ralleigh. I used to call her "Pixie" because she had a real zest for life. She never walked up the stairs one single time in her whole life, she would take out running, even when she was tired which she rarely ever was. And when she came down she always slid down the banister even though I got on her numerous times."

Bramble looked at the long, straight, smooth wooden rail. "I could see my sister Star doing that. Me too, actually."

"Please don't," she said with a hint of firmness. "Her old room is right upstairs if you want to see it."

"Yes, please."

He bounded up the stairs. Her voice came up after him. "You're just like her." It did not sound like a friendly comparison. "Remember what I said…_no sliding down_. There are splinters loose in the wood and you might get a nasty surprise." When she finally reached the top, of the stairs she motioned at one of the doors. "In here."

Bramble peeked in half expecting to see things looking the way Clara left it. After all, Dad had not disposed of Clara's things and his wardrobe and dresser were a virtual museum to her hallowed memory. However Clara's room in the Hedgely house was being used for storage.

In the back corner next to the window was a large bed. Bramble pointed. "Was that hers?"

"Yes. It was made especially for her out of fine Calormene mahogany."

He walked over to it and felt the blankets with his paw. He climbed on to the bed and lay on his back. It did not squeek, and it was more comfortable than his own bed, but what caught his attention was a crack in the ceiling plaster. "I bet Mum used to look at that crack and think it was a river. Maybe she thought she was a cloud looking down on the world."

"I wouldn't know. I'd often see her staring up or out the window looking at nothing. My Clara daydreamed a lot."

"My sister Star is like that. I'd think she was doing nothing and I'd ask her if she wanted to play and she'd say 'Not now, I'm busy.'"

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. That's what I always say. I can see her in you."

Bramble cracked a smile. It was his first happy feeling since he knocked on the door. He liked to be told how he was like his mother. In his mind she was a saint who could do no wrong.

Just then his gaze fell on a large harp. He hopped off the bed and went to it, idly strumming it with a paw and creating quite a noise. It was badly out of tune.

"Hers?"

"Yes. Yours are the first paws to touch it since she left. She loved that harp. I guess it runs in families. She sang and danced too. Do you sing and dance?"

"Not when I can help it," Bramble said. "Star can sing well and Daddy can dance like anything."

"Our Clara was rather good at all the gentle arts. She could have been a court musician and she would have been, too, if she had continued her education. Problem is she harbored romantic notions. Extremely bright she was, but not a very practical girl, just like her sister. We tried to talk sense into her and she rebelled and ran away to marry your father. I have no idea why she'd rather spend her life washing dishes instead of playing the harp."

"Because she loved Daddy," Bramble said, suddenly uncomfortable. "She _did_ love him, you know."

"It's all right, Bumblewood. I don't blame you."

"Bramblewood, ma'am. My friends call me Bramble."

"Anyhow, we don't ask for our parents."

"If I had the chance," Bramble said politely but firmly, "I would pick him. Really I would."

"That's very loyal of you. I admire loyalty."

He could feel the tension rising and changed the subject. "What else did Momma do?"

"Needlework and painting. Sometimes she wrote."

"Do you have any of her stories?"

Mrs. Hedgely opened a drawer in an old dusty writing desk and took out some papers covered in very attractive and feminine script. "Here you go. Be careful with them."

Bramble took them in his trembling paws and looked at the black shapes his mother drew. His memories of her had faded with time and some days he had trouble remembering the sound of her voice. But those were here words, fresh and sharp as if they had just been spoken. He could feel her presence more strongly than he had in months and his chin trembled as tears streamed down his face.

For a moment as Mrs. Hedgely saw the furling caressing his mother's writings she felt a warm wave of tenderness sweep over her. "She loved you, didn't she?"

"Oh yes," Bramble stammered. He leafed through the pages. "Where's her name?"

"She signed the last page. Here it is…Clara Hedgely."

"Is that it? It doesn't look like her name. There's no 'F' in it anywhere, and I know what an 'F' looks like—a tree with two branches."

Mrs. Hedgely frowned. "Didn't you learn your letters, boy?"

"Mum died before she could teach me, and Dad didn't know how. We have no money for lessons."

"Why am I not surprised," she said, irritated, taking the papers back and putting them in the drawer. "If she'd married Fenton Tully like I wanted her to, you'd be gentrified and a scholar with real potential, not a scruffy and unlearned urchin hanging around a public house."

"It's an inn," Bramble objected, "and the finest one in Byron. I _was_ taught manners, Mrs. Hedgely, and I'm _not_ scruffy."

"I didn't mean to insult you."

"And I can write my own name—honest. Hand me a pen and I'll _show_ you."

"No need for that," she said. "An inn is no place to raise a rose bush, much less a furling! You deserve better: you have Hedgely blood in your veins and no Hedgely was ever illiterate."

Bramble's paws clinched into fists and bit his tongue to hold in the words that were ready to burst out. He was making a supreme effort to be polite—indeed, if nothing else, he was taught good manners.

***

The downstairs door opened and an old dog fox stepped in. Bramble looked out. That had to be his grandfather. Maybe he'd have more luck with this one.

"Dear," the dog fox said, "I hope lunch is served. I'm… Hello, who's this?"

"It's Bumblewood Foxworth."

He frowned. "Oh." He looked past Bramble at his wife. "Did you invite him up?"

"No, he decided to surprise us."

"It's no surprise to me." The old dog fox shrugged, stowing his walking staff and cap on some hooks by the door. "I wondered how long it would be till they came around asking for money."

"I don't want your money," Bramble said, angry and tired of being talked about as if he weren't in the room. "Ask her. I didn't want a farthing, sir, not a brass farthing!"

"Of course you don't," Mrs. Hedgley said. "But you can be sure your father thought the sight of you in those rags would wring a few crescents out of us. Such a shame he had to pull you into this old quarrel."

Bramble looked down at his clothes, embarrassed. He never knew they were considered rags. Next to hers they no doubt were, but back home folk didn't judge a book by its cover. When he found his tongue, he said, "This was _my_ idea. He doesn't even know I'm here."

"Oh I see. So he lets you run loose like a wild thing without adult supervision? That's even _worse_. Why when I was a little girl, if I ran away from home my father would have whaled me good!"

Bramble had reached his boiling point. "Don't you ever say anything good about anyone?? You didn't even come to Momma's funeral!"

"Your mother died the day she married that good for nothing tramp!"

Bramble shook. "My mother was _born_ the day she married Daddy! Garn, no _wonder_ she ran away!"

"Did you hear that, Forrest?? That's what I get for talking to riff raff! And after I invited him in fleas and all!" She turned and pointed at the pup, fury in her eyes. "Bumblewood Foxworth, get out of my house now and never come back!"

Bramble's eyes narrowed. "With _pleasure!_" He ran downstairs, paused for a moment to shoot an icy glance at the dog fox, and said, "My name is _Bramble-_woodand I don't have_ fleas!_" He stormed out the front door, slamming it as hard as he could. Then he dashed to the shelter of a nearby hedgerow where he could hide from the eyes of the world. He huddled there, cried "Momma!" and sobbed uncontrollably.

***

Though the Foxworths and Nickaby did not dine together as a family very often, the old otter insisted that they would that night. No doubt he had his reasons, but he was tight-lipped about them.

There was almost no conversation, despite Nicakby's withering attempts at sparkling wit. Thornton Foxworth was very subdued and hardly noticed the food in his plate. So was Bramble

After a long quiet pause, Thorny glanced over at Bramble. In a tone much like unconditional surrender on the battlefield, he said, "Son, I'm sorry I was cross with you this morning. If you still want to see your grandparents, I'll take you there tomorrow."

"No need. I've already been to my grandparents house," Bramble said. "I went there today."

Nickaby dropped his fork and looked about sharply, open-mouthed. Thorny gasped and met his son's eyes. "You did _what?_" the fox asked slowly. Thorny's pained expression was too much for Nickaby and the otter had to look away. "Who told you where they lived?"

"Vicar Chios. He took me there. He showed me the rock chimney and everything."

Thorny's ears lowered. "The rock chimney?"

"Yes," Bramble said. "That's all that was left of a house after the fire."

Nickaby let out a tremendous sigh and Thorny's face softened.

"You saw my old house?"

"Yes. It was very peaceful. Chios told me what the house looked like and he showed me where your room was. He used to eat dinner there on Fridays, you know."

"I remember."

"He also said when the house burned down…" The fox pup looked down. "You had to beg for food… No family, no home—oh Daddy, how did you bear it??"

Thorny bit his lip. He got up and went to him to hold Bramble. "My son, my poor son! It's all right! I lost one set of parents, but I got another that pulled me through. You do have two sets of grandparents after all."

"I know," Bramble said, looking over at Nickaby. "Family is not something you _are_, it's something you _do_."


	16. A Rock and a Hard Place

SIXTEEN

A ROCK AND A

HARD PLACE

I stared at my empty trencher, waiting for Dad to come in for lunch. Mother puttered about the stove nervously. "Daddy's not going to be in a good mood," she said at last. "He hates to be late and he hates meeting with the Town Council. He's getting both at once, so whatever he does, just nod your head and say 'Yes sir' until he cools down."

"What do they do at Town Council meetings?" I asked.

"I've never been to one myself, but they sound beastly. All the long-winded speeches and arguments about where to spend the money and what laws to pass. They also have some say in how we keep the reservoir, and that's what gets your father all upset. Things would go better all around if they would stick with their job and let us stick with ours, and maybe…uh oh…here he comes…"

Dad stormed in the front door and slammed it behind him with a vengeance. "Garn!" he roared, fists in the air. "It's a good thing I'm not a violent beast! That Podgy Debbins is a worthless, shameless know-nothing scalawag without a brain in his head, and how they _ever_ let that brass farthing on the Council, I'll never know!"

"What's wrong this time, dear?" Mum asked.

"Nothing I couldn't cure with a stout jackie and a couple of minutes alone with him! That's all I ask—two minutes in the alley! I'd learn him a lesson he'd never forget! Six inches off the reservoir he says. Six inches! And for what? He's worried about his stupid old fishing hole! Of all the selfish, self-centered beasts…"

"He didn't get it, did he?"

"No, but the _nerve_ of asking for it! It's an _outrage!_"

"I bet you told him what for."

"I sure did. And there sat the Vicar like a big lump of misery, afraid to make anyone angry. He says he's my friend. You think he'd _say_ something."

"Maybe he thought you could handle it better yourself."

As he plopped morosely into his chair, resting his head in his paws, Mum began to knead his tense shoulders. "Poor Horace! You know if you let Podgy get you angry here and now, he's stealing bits of your private happiness. That's worth more than six inches of water. Why give him another scrap of it? You kept him out of the reservoir, why not keep him out of the lodge?"

He sighed. After a moment he glanced back at her. "You're right, old girl. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to take it out on the family." He sighed deeply. "Give us a kiss?"

She kissed his cheek and mussed his fur with a paw. "Aslan knows you're doing a good job. In the end that's all that truly matters. We know it too, dear. So do all the beavers that rely on you. They elected you because they knew you were the best one for the job."

He patted her shoulder. "Did I tell you I love you lately?"

"Yes, Horace. All the time."

"Well I mean it."

That was the private Horace Beaverlee the Town Council never knew existed, my father and Mum's husband. To his public he was quiet and withdrawn unless provoked, and then he became angry as a hornet. They thought "Mr. B." fair but firm, hard working but unyielding, clever but stubborn as a rock. As a result he had many admirers but few close friends.

"Here you go, dearie," Mum said, serving Dad a generous portion of stew. "I kept it nice and hot." Mum served me next and herself last, a subtle kindness that I look back upon and wish I'd acknowledged more often.

When we were all seated and ready to clean our trenchers, Dad bowed his head and reverently intoned, "For friends, family and fodder we give you thanks O Lord."

As we looked up, as we reached for our cups and spoons, we heard a knock at the door. Often Bramble would often "happen by" at mealtimes, especially when Mom made her special desserts, but this was not his usual knock. The pounding came more urgently.

"Help!" Bramble cried. "Somebody help me!"

Mother dropped her cup and rushed to the door. When she opened it, Bramble grabbed her arm, tugging her, and shouting, "Come quick, Mrs. B! Buck's been snakebit!"

***

Buck bitten by a snake? Buckthorn Badger? At first I thought it was only a modest emergency for we beavers know exactly what to do if bitten. We never go into snake-infested spots alone, and if the worst happens we don't run about.

Then I realized Buck and Bramble were not so lucky. A knot rose in my stomach. What if in a panic Buck ran about, each beat of his racing heart sending the poison coursing through his body?

"Oh please, Lord!" I murmured, "Please don't let him die!"

I truly loved Buck—I still do—and I couldn't even let myself imagine life without him. As for Bramble, well, it was as if the fox and badger were two halves of one being, and to separate them would be like cleaving someone in twain. If Buck died, a great light would go out in all our lives.

Dad kept his wits—he always did—and fetched the snake kit from the cupboard. As the "wettest" of the riverbankers, beavers kept snakebite supplies in quick reach.

***

Buck lay stricken at one of our favorite haunts, the still pond on Silver Creek where I used to speak with Sam's reflection. I felt it was an omen, and not a good one.

The badger lay on the bank groaning, his face contorted with pain. His leg was terribly swollen and the wound was bleeding profusely. Nearby the bloodied remains of the snake had been bashed with a rock almost beyond recognition by the distraught Bramble. Still there was enough of the pattern visible to confirm our worst fears…it was a reed viper.

Buck was in terrible pain, but he had a badger's fortitude and when Dad would touch the wound his paws would form tight little fists, face would wrinkle into a mask of pain and he would silently mouth, "Oh Lord! Help me, help me!" Mother would stroke his face with a paw and kiss him. Her love gave him the strength to endure being bled, washed and bandaged, but just barely.

As soon as he had been secured, a quick process though it seemed to take forever, Mum and Dad did a team carry to transport him in a sitting position all the way through the rocks, the bushes, the tangles and briars that barred the way home. If it inconvenienced them, they never let on.

"What happened?" I asked the fox.

"We were out looking for an adventure. I was showing Buck what you get when you tip over a large rock. It was fun for a bit, till he started poking around on his own. He just lifted the rock and said, 'Oh look, Bramble, it's a snake!' And he stood there and let it bite him!"

"There's a bit more to the story," Buck said through clenched teeth.

Dad looked around. "So you were playing about with things you ought not touch?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Bramble said. "He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

"We'll do everything we can, son. You pray and we'll carry."

Dad carried, but he also prayed.

***

Buck looked very small and helpless in my bed. Bramble hovered next to his stricken friend looking very miserable.

"Mr. B.? Is there anything I can do?"

Dad gave Bramble a pat on the back. "You and Mountie should go outside so when his folks arrive there won't be a great hurly burly."

"Do you promise to tell me if anything happens?"

"The moment I know anything."

Bramble looked down. "I know I'm a lot of trouble sometimes. You think I'm bad, don't you, Mr. B.?"

"No, son. You're a little reckless, but good-hearted. I expect you to be more cautious in the future where snakes are concerned."

"Yes sir." Bramble shuffled his feet. "Then you're not angry?"

"No. I couldn't stay angry with you if I tried."

Bramble looked Dad in the eyes. "Really? I thought you just put up with me for the Missus."

"You're good for her and for Mountie too, but you're also good for me, you little tookie. And when I say my prayers at night, I always put in the good word for you."

"I could use a good word right now," Bramble said, coming close to Dad and putting an arm about him. "I'm glad we're friends, Mr. B."

"So am I, Bramble. So am I. Now run along and say a prayer for Buck."

***

Dad sat alone with the young badger who had gone out of his head. At times Buck seemed to be trying to speak. He began to twitch a bit as if caught in a bad dream and a thin moan escaped his lips. Dad took one of Buck's paws in his own, giving it a squeeze.

"You are so young! There are so many adventures waiting for you, so many joys and so much love! Bucky, come back to us! Come back, Bucky!" Dad bent over and kissed his cheek. "You are too young to die! Come back to me, son! Come back, Bucky! _You can't die…you mustn't!_ You'd break my heart!"

Time seemed to stand still. Mum had left straightway for Badger House and surely she would go as fast as her legs would carry her. Buck's home was not far, and it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes for the round trip. Still it seemed like hours passed.

Dad fetched a basin full of cool water and used a tea towel to cool Buck's feverish brow. Then he clasped his paws and bowed his head.

"It's up to you now, Aslan. I've done all I can do. I remember how angry I was when Samuel died. I blamed you, and maybe I said some terrible things. Still you did not leave me comfortless. Buck is their only son. Their only son! If he dies, what will they have left? He just can't die!"

Dad heard the latch downstairs and he quickly dried his eyes, straightened up and prepared to take charge of matters.

***

Hours had passed. Lunch sat cold and deserted on the table downstairs. Dad, mindful of his role as host, brought some biscuits and tea up to Oakley and Jasmine. They thanked him but they ate very little. I had missed lunch myself and it was already late afternoon. Mum heard my stomach rumble discretely passed me the unused biscuits and a cup of tea. Gratefully I went out into the hall to have me a "hold over." That's why I was in a perfect spot to see a very odd happening downstairs.

Someone knocked at the door. Dad said, "It's probably Mr. Foxworth." Odd, but even as he said the words I strongly felt he was wrong.

He hurried down the stairs, pulled back the latch, swung open the door and saw the otter himself, the infamous Podgy Debbins, M.C.

Dad's voice carried up the stairs like a thunderclap. "Debbins! It took a lot of nerve for you to show your face around here!"

"Mr. Beaverlee, I just came to…"

"It's bad enough I had to put up with your incompetent babbling this morning, but now with my whole world in a spin, up you show to put in your oar!"

"Mr. Beaverlee, _please_ Sir! It's not like that!"

"Then what _is_ it like?"

"Sir, I begged old Bellie not to name me his replacement! I don't know anything about government! Look, I didn't know you got paid by the foot till the Vicar told me…I just knew everyone else was making motions and talking large and I was sitting there like a bump on a log. I should have kept my mouth shut. I'm sorry, sir. I meant you no harm."

That was the last thing Dad expected to hear. Once the message had fully sunken in, he said, "That's all right, Podgy. I accept your apology. Besides, I have a sick furling to deal with and I can't afford to hold a grudge now."

"Oh Mr. B.! I had no idea! Is there anything I can do to make things better?"

"You already have. It's water under the bridge."

"Thank you. And next time you make a motion…I don't care what it is…I'll second it right away."

Dad headed back up the stairs, a faint smile on his face. It was the first one of the day.

***

A long day had turned into a long evening, and Buckthorn Badger still lay still and silent in my bed. The sun was setting in the west and the sky was suffused with a dreamy soft purple and red and if things had been different Mum might have stepped out on the front deck with us to watch the sunset.

Oakley and Jasmine sat quiet and subdued by the sickbed and Mother, who had cried a river, began to pray quietly for what seemed like the hundredth time. If Aslan did not come through for us, he would have to face Momma...a rather daunting prospect.

I heard the door open. "Hello?" called a familiar voice. I hurried down and saw Thornton Foxworth standing in the door, worry in his face. "Is anyone about?"

"Yes sir!" I cried, coming down the stairs. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm looking for Bramble. He didn't come home today. Have you seen him?"

"He's fine, Sir," I said. "There's been an accident with Buck and he's upstairs by the bed."

"_By the Lion!_" the fox exclaimed. "Poor Bucky!! Is he all right??"

"Shhh, keep it down. Buck's been snakebit and he needs quiet and rest."

Mum came to the top of the stairs. "Mr. Foxworth, I wondered when you'd pop in. Sit you by the fire. I have some tea on."

"I'd like to stay. Truly I would. But I can't be off duty for long, Ma'am. We're a bit short staffed today."

"I understand. At least you can have a cup before you go, hmm? After all…"

Just then we heard a shout from Bramble. "_Come quick!_"

***

Thorny charged up the stairs and into my bedroom with me on his heels. He saw Buckthorn Badger sitting up in bed, looking about at everyone.

"Well, little fellow," Thorny said, "I hear you've had quite a day!"

Buck smiled. "Uncle Thorny! Did you come to see me?"

The fox took off his cap and smiled broadly. "You couldn't keep me out with a stick!"

"How do you feel?" Jasmine asked.

"All right, I guess." Buck sighed deeply. "I saw the strangest thing. First I saw me lying there in the bed. Then there was this bright light. It was so warm and beautiful. I walked into it and I saw him. Aslan. He knew me."

"Oh Bucky!" Oakley said, mussing him between the ears. "You must have been out of your head, son."

"No, I really saw him. I was going to go with him but someone kept calling my name. It was Mr. B. He said I was too young to die and that I had to come back. I looked back and the next thing I knew I was here."

"Isn't that sweet!" Jasmine said to my Dad. "He thought he heard you calling him."

Dad's chin trembled. "He did." His eyes puddled up and he left the room quickly, running down the stairs.

Oakley got up and walked to the door. He crept down the stairs, quietly opened the front door and looked outside. There he saw Dad standing on the deck, looking out at the water, tears streaming down his face.

Oakley ran over and embraced Dad. "Oh Mr. B.! You're a gift from Heaven!"

"Just doing my duty," Dad said.

"Horace, you're a grand fellow but a very poor liar."

Dad sniffed back tears, ashamed to be losing his composure but unable to stop himself. "I know what it feels like to lose a son."

"You? Oh Horace! I never knew!"

"His name was Sam." Dad sighed deeply. "I like to think he would have been a lot like your Bucky."

The badger smiled wistfully, lending Dad his kerchief to clean up. "I go lawn bowling every Thursday. I've thought about inviting you for some time, but you're always so busy. You do get away for a few ends now and then, don't you?"

"I wouldn't know," Dad said, embarrassed. "I've never tried."

"Never tried?? Well what DO you like to do when things slow down around here?"

"Sometimes I go for a row on the lake."

"Well that settles it. Tomorrow evening you and I are going to the green and I am going to teach you everything I know about lawn bowling."

"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to impose…"

"Nonsense. You? Impose? It's not imposing when it's a good friend. I'll teach you to bowl and you'll give me some tips on my rowing. Each helps the other. Is it a deal?"

Dad smiled and shook his paw.

***

With a little work at it, Dad became a decent bowling mate and a great rowing instructor. But most importantly, he expanded his horizons. He was friendlier with everyone, even with Podgy Debbins, and he would always find a way to free up his Thursdays for bowling and a night on the town with Oakley. When Dad would throw a good end he would get all excited, and when he would stop for a pint at the Moon and Hare Inn afterward he would always make a hearty toast to Oakley, to good health and good cheer. Other townsfolk watching him would stop and stare. "Was that Mr. B.?" Indeed, it was.


	17. The Ties That Bind

SEVENTEEN

THE TIES THAT

BIND

Buck was raking leaves when he heard the raucous honking of geese winging overhead. He looked up at the haphazard "V" of a flock getting ready for their long southward flight. And well they might get ready, for the days were growing shorter and there was a nip in the air even as the trees were the hues of flame.

With a few adept strokes of his rake, the badger pushed a couple of smaller piles into the growing mountain of leaves. Soon it would be set ablaze and the distinctive fruity fragrance of its smoke would perfume the wind.

Suddenly a streak of red dashed across the yard. Bramble came with a loud cry of "Yaaaarrrh!" and leaped into the midst of the pile. A blizzard of leaves went everywhere, then Bramble emerged from what was left of the pile, laughing and eyes shining.

Buck would have to rake it back into one pile, but he wouldn't dare show Bramble that he was irritated. Besides the fox enjoyed it so.

Before applying himself to the task, Buck took a run of his own. He landed with a splash, though his landing was not as soft as Bramble's.

Jasmine looked out of the door. "Bucky, quit playing around and finish up! It's about time for tea and biscuits!"

Bramble looked at her intently. Politely but somewhat urgently, he asked, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Mrs. Badger…?"

"Of course you may join us. You're one of the family."

"Thank you, Ma'am! Thanks much!"

Jasmine understood that Thornton Foxworth was struggling to get by with his two furlings, and she was always glad to help out the less fortunate. Though, of course, she never put it that way openly.

Buck started to finish up the pile, but Bramble grabbed the rake away. "You run along. I'll clean up the mess. Buck nodded and smiled. When it came down to it, Bramble was a well-mannered furling, always anxious to please.

***

Thorny came back to the kitchen from the great room, still dressed in his apron, to get a bowl of stew for a patron when he saw Bramble moving his own stew around listlessly. Star had nearly finished her supper, but Bramble had hardly made a dent in his bowl.

"Come now," Thorny chided. "You know the rules. Take what you want, but eat what you take. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, Dad." Bramble looked down.

"Are you all right then?" Thorny felt with a worried paw. "At least your nose is wet and cold. Do you feel sick, lad?"

"No, Dad."

"What is it then? You can tell your father. We're not just family, we're best mates."

Bramble looked up guiltily. "Too many sweets, I suppose."

"You don't get your allowance for two more days. It must be…the Badgers." Thornton frowned. "You know Mrs. Badger can't resist a furling with his paw held out, but son, I raised you better than that. All taking and no giving back is no way to keep friends. When someone does you a kindness, you should offer one in return. So you go marching right down there tomorrow morning and tell them they're invited to dine with us. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Thorny sighed. First off it was highly unlikely the Badgers would show up at a public house to dine. And even if they did, his time in the kitchen was spent washing dishes, not cooking. Even if they did show up, and even if someone would do the honors at the stove, Nickaby would not foot the tab for a whole family to dine at the Moon and Hare. Thornton was in a terrible predicament.

Bramble saw his father's downcast face and put a paw around his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to cause trouble. Really."

"I know, son. It's not your fault we're poor."

***

Jasmine inspected Buck's paws carefully, and even checked in his ears. "Now remember, Bucky, the Foxworths don't live in a home like ours and they may not cook the same things we do. But no matter where they seat us and no matter what they serve, it's fine by us, understand? And be on your best behavior. This is the first time we've called on Mr. Foxworth socially and I don't want it to be the last."

"Don't worry mum," he said, "I wouldn't want to drag down the family honor with a dark scandal."

Her paws went to her face. "Goodness, where did you ever hear such things?"

He heard it from eavesdropping on his mother and Aunt Violet but he didn't dare say so. "I'll be good," he said, kissing her. "I promise."

"I wonder if he'd be upset if we brought something with us. Perhaps a dish of chipped beef or a pie? And maybe shortening bread?"

"Bramble loves your pies and your shortening bread."

"Indeed he does. That's what growing bucks need, right?" She cuddled him and kissed him between the ears. "After all, you only get one chance to be a furling, so it has to be a good one."

***

Thorny paced about before the large stove in the kitchen. Of course pacing was not going to make something happen. Bramble didn't know a whit about cooking and Star was helpless to bake pies without ingredients. Thorny had misjudged his financial solvency and on top of that guessed that the Badgers would decline his invitation.

Of course they did not. Buckthorn got his polite and generous nature from his parents. It was not Thorny's lucky day.

Nickaby came into the kitchen and watched Thornton for a moment. Then he said in his usual gruff voice, "Foxworth, you know how I hate to waste food!"

"Yes sir."

"Well I overshot my recipe for stew. Got enough left in the kettle for six dishes of it, but nobody's ordering stew tonight. Strangest thing. See to it, lad."

"Yes sir, I sure will!"

The otter paused a moment at the kitchen door and glanced back. Though he tried to conceal it, there was a half smile on his face. When Nickaby left, Thorny grinned sheepishly and muttered, "You never overshoot a recipe, you fond mook!"

Just then someone knocked on the kitchen entrance, and when Thorny opened the door, the Badgers were standing there bearing dishes and parcels wrapped in paper.

"We came a bit early," Jasmine said. "I hope that's all right."

"That's splendid!" Thorny said. "Bramble, Star, help our guests get squared away while I set the table."

In moments disaster had turned into triumph.

***

Bramble and Star were laughing so hard they could barely eat. Buck had heard his father's story before, but he was caught up in their hysterics.

"This is the best bit coming up," Buck said.

"Who's telling this story, you little rascal?" Oakley held up a paw. "So there I was with the pot stuck on my paw. I was hoping and praying that no one would see me until I could find some butter to help work myself loose. That's when Jasmine here walked in. That was back when we were courting and I was oh so careful about the impression I made. Anyhow, I stuck my paw, pot and all, behind my back. She asked me at once what I was hiding from her. _'It's a surprise,'_ I said. So when I saw she was skeptical, I showed her my paw. She took one look, shook her head and said, 'After this, nothing surprises me!'"

"At least it didn't sway the course of true love," Thorny said with a nod.

"Sway it?" Jasmine said, putting her paw on Oakley's shoulder. "It guaranteed it. I felt so sorry for him that I knew it must be true love. He needed someone to take care of him."

"Did butter really work?" Star asked.

Jasmine laughed. "No, but a good rap with a mallet did. It slipped right off...in a thousand pieces."

***

Thorny was accustomed to eating on his feet, and he almost never got a chance to sit down with his family and break bread together. All the conversation and laughter made eating much less efficient but a whole lot more enjoyable.

He thought back to a distant time when Dad would come home from work and Mum would have dinner set out. Those meals always started with the question, "How was your day?" but they could go anywhere from there. Good old Dad, he had so many interesting adventures, such a kind heart. What a shame he died so young…

When Thorny married Clara he always made time on Sunday for the family to dine together. Nickaby understood this and would work hard to keep things going on his own while they communed together as a family. After Clara died, Thorny began taking the path of least resistance, thinking himself lucky just to hold the family together with all the work and pressure.

Still, he couldn't help seeing how different Bramble and Star seemed to be. "I'll do it," he thought. "We'll have Sunday dinners together from now on, come what may."

***

After dinner, Bramble and Star thoughtfully started to clear away the dishes, but Jasmine waved them away. "Why don't you go outside and play with Bucky?" And while the furlings were away and Oakley went to play darts, Jasmine went into the kitchen with Thorny to wash up.

The fox sat his load of crockery into the large tub and got a kettle of water simmering on the fire to pour across the dishes. "I can't remember when I've had such an enjoyable evening!"

"The pleasure was all mine," Jasmine insisted. "That's a delightful pair of furlings you have. I knew Bramblewood is a charmer, but I've never seen much of your Starlight."

"She's a quiet girl that doesn't get out that much," Thorny said. "Watch yourself, this water is really hot."

"She's a pretty creature. Probably takes after her mother."

"I guess so," the fox said with a chuckle.

"Oh my!" Jasmine said with an embarrassed laugh. "I didn't mean it like _that_. You're quite a looker, but her features are quite different from Bramble's."

"Yes indeed. She was Clara's little girl just like Bramble is his daddy's son."

As she dried a dish, Mrs. Badger said, "If you don't mind telling me, I've always wondered what happened to your wife."

"It was Christmas before last. My Clara was going to see her sister Holly who lives across the Wells. Old Bellweather's ferry wouldn't run because of the ice, and so she took it upon herself to walk across. She made it about halfway…" The dish he was holding shuddered in his trembling paws. "Bellie tried to save her. He grabbed a pole and went out to fetch her out of the water. Couldn't risk falling in himself, you know. Not that I blame him. And besides, she went under long before he reached her…"

"Oh Mr. Foxworth, I'm so sorry!"

"Well I have a lot of help from Nickaby. He's as good to the furlings as a real blood uncle. But you know, there's always something I've been meaning to tell you. I can't keep track of them all the time. Bramblewood would have run amok if it hadn't been for your boy. He's an inspiration to my son, a ray of saving grace I tell you."

Jasmine gave his shoulder a pat. "Bramble was the real inspiration. Our Bucky was such a shy child, so quiet and withdrawn. Bramble really widened his horizons."

"He'll widen your horizons, for sure." Thorny chuckled. "I can't begin to thank you enough for coming. I work odd hours and it's rare I ever get to have a meal with the furlings as a family. And all this, well, it's such a pleasure to have good food and good friends all about."

"It was kind of you to ask us. You make it sound like we did you a favor, not the other way around."

"Nice of you to see it that way. This is a public house, and I realize we're not your sort. But you accepted, and you treated me like one of your own. You've treated my Bramble like a son. No wonder he loves you."

"We love him too. And Mr. Foxworth… Thorny… don't worry about the future. If anything were to happen to you, Bramble and Star would come to live with us."

"Oh Mrs. Badger! That's kind of you to say, but two more mouths to feed? You don't know what you're saying!"

"Nonsense, Thorny. We have plenty of food, plenty of room, and plenty of love."

The fox looked about with misty eyes. "You have plenty of love, I've no doubt."


	18. Trouble Afoot

EIGHTEEN

TROUBLE AFOOT

Byron on Wells was a sort of family, and like other families it had its share of tooks and scoundrels. One autumn morning that was forced to our attention when the dark shadow of a crime fell across our town.

Nickaby Otter had sent Thorny to the stockroom to fetch the good silverware. The fox returned without it. "It isn't in the chest," he said with a shrug. "Where else should I look?"

"I stashed it there myself. You didn't look well enough. You never do."

"Garn, I emptied out the oak chest. Did everything but turn it over and shake it! I'm _sure_ it's not there."

Nickaby said, "Just like you were _sure_ last week we had no extra mugs? Just like you were _sure_ yesterday we had no clean sheets?" Nickaby took off his apron and tossed it to the fox. "Garn, finish up the dishes while I fetch the silver. When I want something around here, I have to find it myself."

Thorny sulked as he donned the apron and his ears and tail drooped as he plunged his paws into the hot soapy water and listened to the clanks and bumps of Nickaby's search. He had been planning to clean the stockroom tomorrow…he wished he had done it yesterday.

"_By the Lion!_" Nickaby shouted, running up the hall and bursting into the kitchen. "It's not there!"

"With all due respect, sir, I told you it wasn't in the…"

"You don't understand, Thorny! It's _gone!_ Someone stole my Mum's silver!"

"Oh no! It must have been worth a fortune!"

"A fortune? A _fortune?_ That was _Mum's_ silverware!" His paws went to his face. "It was the last thing she gave me! It's my _legacy!_"

Thorny looked down. He understood the meaning of a legacy, for he had one of his own. Often he had knelt before the solitary scorched rock chimney of his old home, listening to the echoes of distant laughter and lullabies that still haunted the ashes. Such things were important in ways no words could express. Nickaby had lost his token to the past. Thorny put his arm about the otter's shoulder and gave him a little squeeze.

Nickaby was inconsolable. "Mum spent hours cleaning it and wrapping it cloth so it wouldn't get scratched. I promised her I'd take care of it. I _promised_…"

***

As news of the incident worked its way through the town, my parents, who already were overprotective of me as their only child, would not let me leave the house unless I told them where I was going, what I was up to, and when I would be back.

I wasn't the only one to suffer. Bramble mirrored his father's somber mood, sitting in the tree house, never speaking unless spoken to, and then answering in one or two words. Buck was terrified. I asked him if we might go boating on up Silver Creek but he told me he couldn't go near the Southern Marsh. "That's where the brigands and thieves camp out," he said. "Ask anyone." Instead we played skollers until we earned a lifetime dislike of checkerboards. It didn't help matters that Buck could easily keel haul me in five moves or less.

The worst thing stolen during the crime was not the silverware but our feeling of safety. I had the nagging notion that everyone who did anything unusual or did not meet my eyes just right or wave hello correctly might be hiding a terrible secret. In my whole life I had not seen as much ugliness in the faces of strangers as I had in those terrible days. "Is he the one?" I asked myself dozens of times. So did everyone else, except for one…the one who knew.

***

Chumley Hare had closed his pawnshop, something he rarely did even for religious holidays, and waited for Bruno to return from the market. Without the bear around, Chumley was vulnerable. No sounds escaped his long ears, but he ignored most of what he heard…usually. That day he was keenly attuned to every sound and each tapping of the shutters or twitter of a bird unnerved him.

A squirrel ran across the roof. The skittering made Chumley jump. Then he laughed nervously and began to pace about. "Just a squirrel…this time."

Moments later he was relieved to hear the pounding of a strong fist on the door. "Oh Bruno," he cried, "Thank heavens you're back!"

And yet the face he saw when he opened the door was not Bruno's. He tried to shut it but the angry wolf pushed in, closing and barring the door behind him.

"Closing a bit early are we?" the wolf hissed. "I've come for my money. You owe me twenty gold lions and I'm betting you don't have it."

"I do...I mean...not all of it, but some of it. I'll get the rest, I promise you!" Chumley took a large burlap bag in his trembling paws and upended it on the table. Spilling out like a waterfall was Nickaby's silverware. "See? I can get it! Really I can!"

The wolf picked up a fork and scrutinized it carefully. "This is the good stuff. I'd say you have five golden lions' worth here. That leaves you with twenty to go."

"Only five lions?" Chumley said, his ears sagging. "There are thirty place settings here…"

"I go by weight. You don't think I'm stupid enough to sell it as silverware with his coat of arms on the handle do you??"

"I didn't think you were stupid, Loki. Honest…"

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood. You know, long ears, I once had a chap like you that held out on me. I questioned him for three days—_most unpleasantly_—and in all that time I never used the same method twice." He drew close and said, "I've always been a might curious which torture caused him the most pain. He was tight lipped, but I bet you're the screaming sort."

"You'll get your money. I swear."

"Twenty gold lions. What do you think are your chances?"

"I have another source," the hare gasped. "I'll go to Cutshaw House. Don't worry, I'll get it."

"I _never_ worry. I let blokes like you do the worrying for me." He drew close. "I almost hope you fail. I never liked you, Chumley. And before you try to leave town, I have eyes and ears keeping track of you."

***

Late in more ways than one, Bruno eventually returned with some groceries. He had to knock long and hard before Chumley would come to the door. The hare finally unbarred the door and let him in, but turned to hide his tear stained face. "It's about time you showed up, you flea bag!" Chumley said.

"Hmmph!" said the bear. "And I got you a great bargain on corn muffins! This is the thanks I get…"

"What good are corn muffins to the dead?"

***

Nickaby Otter was nobody's fool, and in the moonlit great hall he sat quietly next to Lord Cutshaw and ten veteran otters from the Black Diamond Regiment. He knew if they didn't catch a thief that night it would surely be soon.

"Why don't we just search Chumley's shop?" Wilbur Cutshaw whispered.

"That sort of boldness is not like Chumley. He's someone's pet fly and I want to catch the big boss. That's the bloke that has my silver."

Just then one of the boys signaled and pointed. As quietly as he could, Wilbur Cutshaw carried his covered lantern and sword over to the north entrance. He listened there a moment to the careful sounds of a pick moving about in the latch. He backed away, flattened himself against the wall and waited.

The moonlight cast a long shadow of a hare on the floor as the thief stepped into a trap.

"Now!" Wilbur Cutshaw shouted, throwing open his lantern. The door slammed shut, then other lanterns opened like bright eyes. A dozen swords pulled at once, gleaming in the flickering lamplight. And there in the midst of Narnian justice cowered Chumley Hare.

"Kill me!" he begged. "Please Wilbur, don't send me to the Old Bailey! Kill me now!"

Lord Cutshaw scowled. "That's murder. I won't stain my paws with the blood of an unarmed coney, even if he is a took and a scoundrel."

"Then lend me a sword! Please, Wilbur! Nickaby! Somebody!" He looked about frantically. "Will no one arm me? Wilbur, I'll face you in combat. All I ask is that you make it quick and clean."

"Can't face a few years behind bars?" Nickaby taunted. "Take your punishment like a grown buck and stop squealing."

"Garn, don't you understand? _He_ has friends there!" Chumley began to sob desperately. "_He'll_ come and fetch me!"

"Who?" Lord Cutshaw asked.

"I owe 20 golden lions to Loki Sharptooth. Unless I can get the money by the end of the week he'll torture me! I wasn't going to rob you blind, I only wanted twenty gold lions to buy him off…"

"Only twenty??"

"That's a lot of money, but not for a bloke like you! I would have asked for a loan, but I was afraid you'd turn me down."

"Not a brass farthing, I assure you!"

"Wilbur, I never pinched things from folks I didn't think could afford to lose them! I didn't know what else to do!"

Lord Cutshaw said, "You could have come to me, Chumley. I'm fair and reasonable."

"It never thought you'd be fair with a brass farthing like _me_."

"A fellow can't be fair with anyone unless he's fair with everyone. Even _you_." Wilbur sheathed his sword. "Nicky was right—you're just a pet fly. If you'll give sworn testimony to the Town Council to put Loki away, I'll see what can be arranged for you."

***

The next evening Loki Sharptooth was brazen enough to stop by the Moon and Hare Inn for his usual evening ale. His mind was awhirl with dreams of 20 gold lions or one dead hare, and he planned to leave straightway for the pawnshop. He never stopped to wonder why otters took all the places around his usual table.

Nickaby stopped by the table. "Good evening, Loki. Is there something I can get you? A Jack Flat? A hot stew? Maybe another bag of _silverware?_"

Loki's eyes widened. He jumped up from the table but only got two paces toward the door. It was time for him to do his own worrying for a change.

***

A thorough search of Loki's lodgings revealed a small treasure in stolen merchandise. The City of Byron confiscated his ill-gotten gains and reimbursed his victims.

Most of Nickaby's silver had already been melted down, but a complete place set survived. Nickaby took it to Faun Odeon as a model and had a new set cast to match the old. The original set he reserved for his own personal use, keeping it as a sort of shrine to his sainted mother.

For his helpful testimony, Chumley Hare was shown mercy by the Town Council. After a mere three months behind bars, he was free to go his way. He lost his charter to be a pawnbroker, so he came by the Moon and Hare asking to work for his room and board. Nickaby sent him off with nothing but an ale to drown his sorrows. "I can forgive you," the otter said, "but I can't trust you."

Chumley tried at least a dozen other places, eventually showing up at Oakley Badger's doorstep thoroughly broken and humbled. "Please sir," he begged the badger, "would you give me a chance to earn an honest living? Nobody else will trust me around their wares. I can dig dirt, and you won't mind if that goes missing, I daresay! Please, Mr. Badger, I know I cheated your son, but you're a fine upstanding buck of principles that gives life better than he gets. Have mercy on me!"

Oakley scratched his chin. "I can't forget what you did to my son. You sold him a boat that nearly got him killed and then I had to beat a refund out of your hide."

"Well," Chumley said, looking down, "I suppose we all get what's coming to us. Maybe it's all for the best. Perhaps a new start somewhere else where they have not heard of me."

Buck drew nigh and tugged his father's vest. "Daddy, I once did a terrible thing but I was truly sorry and Aslan forgave me. Maybe he's truly sorry."

The badger thought a moment, and then brightened. "Chumley Hare, your sin was against my son. You still owe him something."

Chumley stopped and looked about. "I paid the twenty crescents, sir."

"Not that. If you can pay your debt, I'll give you a job."

The hare stood deep in thought. He was desperate for some idea—any idea—that would make him gainfully employed. He glanced down into Buck's face and saw his expectant look. There was so much innocence in those eyes, something Chumley had lost so long ago. The hare bowed his head with shame. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then looked up. "Buckthorn, you trusted me and I let you down. There's a rowboat in my shop. It has oars and a rope and anchor and everything. Whether I get a job or not, I want you to have it. I'm sorry, son. If you and Aslan can forgive me, I'll get by somehow."

Oakley nodded. "Garn, it would be worth the money just to see you do an honest day's work. Go report to Robbie Diggins in the morning."

***

Oakley was a good master and he treated the hare with kindness and fairness. Chumley responded by a zeal born of deep gratitude. He was a new creature, craving the approval of decent folk and working hard at his task. He soon won the grudging respect of the lads at his job and eventually became a foreman. The newly respectable Chumley Hare settled down with the widow Longshanks and had three soft-spoken and well-mannered furlings that never caused anyone a day's trouble. One of them would succeed me as Vicar of Byron.

Bruno the bear finally got a chance to think for himself, and he remembered a distant childhood dream of being in the shipping business. He realized it when he became a bobby on the docks of Byron, hefting barrels of goods as if they were filled with air. Before long he was placed in charge of security, frustrating petty thieves with great skill because he knew all the same tricks by heart.

For me, however, the greatest miracle was to head off for Buck and Bramble, have Mum ask what I was off to do, say "Nothing", and then be allowed to go off and do it without further explanation. The shadow of crime had been lifted and it would never stretch out as darkly again.


	19. Unexpected Friends

NINETEEN

UNEXPECTED FRIENDS

The river brought us prosperity, the river brought us calamity. Its face was the hue of heaven, its flood was the wrath of perdition. Whether it filled the mind with fond memories or deep bitterness, one could not live in Byron without thinking about the Wells.

***

Little vixen Starlight ran panting through the bitter chill of Christmas Eve night, her breath forming white clouds of desperation as she crunched through the unforgiving snow. "Get your brother," her dad had stammered, his broken countenance an icy foretaste of the grave. Twice she had pled, "What's wrong?" and he repeated in that same empty voice, "Get Bramble". Her heart hammered in her chest as she ran. "Please, Aslan," she gasped, reaching at last the large oak door of the Cutshaw House, "please don't let it be my Mum!" Within the warm glowing hall, happy voices raised a Christmas carol. She could hear Bramble's warm clear solo… Poor Bramble, so happy and so unsuspecting!

The vixen woke with a start, glancing about in the dark deceptive calm of her room. "It was only a dream," she murmured, yet it was more than that. Her mother had met her death in the Wells, and now Star had to cross the river, to pass the very spot where Clara had drowned.

She had never seen the spot herself, but she could picture it from Thorny's oft repeated litany of grief: the footprints across the ice, the terrible hole with claw marks about the edge. Clara loved life, and she did not sell it cheaply. Only when the cold had snatched her last bit of her strength could the current sweep her beneath the ice.

At the recollection, Star sat in the bed tightly clutching her pillow in her trembling arms. In the moonlight, she saw the gleam of Bramble's eyes watching her. He did not say a word. He did not have to. "Go back to sleep," she intoned; "It's all right." It was not all right and he knew it, and she knew that he knew it.

Aunt Hollyberry had invited Star to spend a week at her home. Star loved her Auntie, yet she dreaded crossing the Wells which loomed between them like an angry wall. Amidst dad's pleading, Bramble's cajoling, Holly's sweet smiling and her own heart's tugging, she had rashly uttered the words, "I'll do it." As Thorny hugged her and said, "That's daddy's brave little princess" she felt brave. Yet her flush of courage faltered with the setting sun.

***

The next morning found Star huddled against the side of my coracle, gripping the rail frantically. "You tricked me," she spat, glancing from Bramble to me. "We have to go back! Now!" Her tone caught me by surprise. I had never seen her lose her temper before and never wanted to do so again.

"We can't go back," I explained. "We're too close to the Wells and the current is too strong. We'll pull over as soon as we reach the dock, if you insist."

To say she insisted was putting it mildly. She had been invited on a fishing trip to Silver Creek. That sounded innocent enough. She had been there before and would wade in its tranquil waters up to her knees, but never deeper, and under no circumstances would she swim. With the greatest reluctance she accepted Bramble's invitation to try out the coracle, a boat made of hides stitched with sinew and pitched with tar. It was her understanding that the boat would drift for a while close to the bank and then come in. But Bramble put his back into the oars, moving out into the swifter current in the center, and our craft was headed out to the Wells. That was Bramble's plan, of course.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Were she up to it, she would have swum for the shore. If she had the skill, she would have grabbed for the oars. Had anyone been about to hear her cries, she would have called for help. Instead she cowered against the rail and stared at the floor of the craft as it eased out of the lazy creek and into the mighty river. Tears began to stream down her face. "Bramble, how _could_ you?"

Sometimes the best laid plans go horribly wrong. "Sis," Bramble stammered, "I..I thought…" He could not look her in the eye. "I thought it would help you get over the fear. I didn't think you'd take it this hard. Sis, _please._"

I shifted nervously. "He meant well. And he asked my advice, so it's partly my fault."

Bramble reached over and put a paw on Starlight's shoulder. "It was stupid of me. I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I really shouldn't," Star said, looking up to meet his glance. His eyes were deep and misty with emotion. She wiped her own eyes with a paw. "Garn, I can't stay angry with you. It _was_ a stupid thing to do, but I guess you meant well."

He let out a deep sigh of relief. "Come on, Mountie. Let's bring her back to shore."

"Wait," Star said. "As long as we're here, you might as well try to catch something." She cracked a timid smile.

Bramble smiled back. He was proud of his sister. Thorny was right, she really was a brave princess. He went through the motions of baiting his hook though his eyes never left hers. He cast his line and said, "It's a nice day to be out."

"Yes, it is," she replied tensely, unable to notice the fine spring day. "At least it doesn't look like rain. You know how it always rains in the spring, especially when you're trying to…" She suddenly gasped and pointed. "Oh look! I just saw something really big!"

"Is it Old Methuselah?" Bramble asked with genuine interest. He was the biggest pavender in the Wells, and anglers up and down the river dreamed of catching him.

"No, it's too big to be a fish. At least I think it is." She looked at me. "Just how big do fish get in the Wells?"

"Not _that_ big," I said with a start. "There it is!"

Bramble turned about and saw something large pass under the boat. He dropped his fishing pole in surprise.

"Garn!" Bramble hissed between clinched teeth.

"I'll cut you another one from the reeds," I offered.

"It was my best pole!" he fumed. "Real metal fittings and everything." A few moments passed, then he met my eyes. "But thanks much."

While Bramble was trying to regain his composure gracefully, a strange and wonderful thing happened. The fishing pole emerged from the water, gripped by a slender yet muscular arm. Bramble gasped at the beaming little girl in a light green cap that surfaced with his prize.

"Mountie, is this yours?"

"Mine, actually, ma'am." Bramble said, taking the reel from the smiling girl with a trembling paw. "Thanks much." He was transfixed. So it wasn't Old Methuselah but a water nymph, a naiad to be precise. He had been in the Wells several times but never seen one.

"Hello Triana," I said, waving. "I'd like you to meet my friends Bramblewood and Starlight Foxworth. Bramble, Star, this is Triana. She's the daughter of Archon Potameides, the River Lord."

Her eyes quickly fastened on Starlight. "Are you a fox?" she asked.

"Yes, I am." Star smiled self-consciously. "Am I the first one you ever saw?"

"No, he is." The naiad smiled and reached up to touch Star's shoulder. "How nice and soft you feel. Starlight, you're so pretty."

"Thanks much," Star murmured. The naiad's own face might have seemed homely had her smile not been so lovely and infectious. As it was, she looked ravishing, and Star fell under her spell at once. "Do you live down there?" the vixen asked.

"Where else? Once you've been in the river, you never want to be anywhere else. It's so beautiful down there. There's nothing much to see on dry land."

"I wouldn't say that," Star said. "Up here the birds sing and the trees blossom in the spring. You don't have birds and trees down there."

"We have birds," she said. We have ducks and geese swim with us all the time. Sometimes we see herons and loons. I like herons, especially when they stand on one leg."

"I mean singing birds. They are wonderful. And you've never seen flowers. Next time I'll have to bring you some. They not only look pretty but they smell pretty. You're missing a lot."

"Then why didn't daddy tell me?"

"Maybe he doesn't know about such things."

"He knows everything," the naiad said. "He's centuries old. He remembers the river before there was a Byron."

Star whistled with appreciation. "What kind of things do you have underwater?"

"Let me show you," Triana said. Before anyone could react, she suddenly thrust her cap on Star's head and pulled her over the side of the coracle with a splash. In moments she was gone without a trace.

Bramble started to jump in after her, but I held him back. "She's quite all right," I insisted. "So long as she's wearing that cap, she's safer than we are."

"But she doesn't know how to swim!"

"Neither do you, or have you forgotten? That cap she's wearing is magic."

"It had better be!" Bramble said. "I don't like this at all. Not one bit."

"Now you know how your sister felt when you tricked her into the boat," I said at last. I had to. "Not a good feeling, is it?"

Bramble looked away. "No, I suppose it's not." He nervously tapped his paw on the edge of the coracle. "So, did you plan this, you and that mermaid of yours?"

"Of course not. And she's a naiad, not a mermaid." I shifted uncomfortably once more. "Look, it will all work out for the best. She'll see the river with new eyes after this. Trust me."

"I trust you," the fox replied. "It's Triana I'm not sure about."

"Come on, Bramble, Triana is a dear little thing. She wouldn't swat a fly if it bit her. Besides, she's one of my best friends."

"For such a good friend, you never mentioned her before."

"Of course not. By and large they keep to themselves. They like beavers because we live on the land and in the water, so we have a special relationship. She only came to the boat because she saw me in it."

Bramble nodded sullenly. He trusted me, and by extension he trusted my friends, though not nearly as much.

***

A long time had passed. Bramble had the nervous fidgets. He made a pretence at fishing, talked about a lot of things in an odd nervous prattle that he obviously didn't care a whit about. Finally, after nearly an hour had gone by with no sign of Starlight, he started to panic. "Mountie, we have to do something! What if she's not coming back??"

"But she is!"

"But what if she's not?? What will I tell Dad?? You can swim…go fetch them!"

"I could never get down that far."

"Well, make a signal! Smack the water with the oars! Do _something!_"

As if she could sense the urgency, Triana splashed up next to the boat. Beside her emerged the beaming Starlight Foxworth. Bramble let out a tremendous sigh of relief.

"See, they're fine," I said, though I must admit I was worried.

"Bramble!" she squealed with delight, "You'll never _guess_ where I've been!"

"I'm just glad you're back!" he beamed, pulling her back into the boat. It was the only time I ever saw him hug her while they were furlings—a very wet, squishy hug, though he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even flinch when she shook off, showering the boat with droplets of cold water. "I was so worried."

"No need for that. We went clear to the bottom. It was dark down there, but Triana has a crystal lantern. And we saw the Queen of the Wells."

"Oh? How was she?"

"Not a _her_—an _it_. The shipwreck! You've heard stories about it—well I actually saw it with my own eyes! And we went inside and I got to see the captain's cabin. His teacup is still there on his desk where he left it! Can you believe it?"

"Right now, I'd believe anything. So tell me everything…"

She recounted a long list of wonders, even tales of fish much bigger than Old Methuselah, but to Bramble the greatest of these miracles was her newfound confidence. She had come to the river in terror and left it in triumph. "Maybe Triana will take _you_ to the shipwreck sometime."

"Any time you're ready," the naiad said. "Any friend of Star is a friend of mine."

He looked at the impersonal green expanse and considered for a moment its murky depths. The thought of plumbing it with nothing more than a magic cap made his skin crawl and his tail fuzz out. "Thanks much, but I think I'd rather not."

***

Thorny listened to his daughter's excited ravings with great interest. At first it all seemed too fantastic to be real, and Star was known to "exaggerate" for effect, but Bramble backed up her story point for point. At the thought of his daughter in the depths of the Wells, Thorny went from cagey disbelief to fiery outrage.

"The bottom of a river is no place for a little vixen to be about!" he thundered. "What were you _thinking?_ And Bramble, why didn't you try to talk some sense into your sister? I have my work to do. Garn, I can't watch you two every second of every day!"

Bramble shifted his weight from foot to foot and his tail twitched nervously. "Dad, it was all very sudden. I didn't have a chance. Triana said 'why don't I show you around?' and she just grabbed Star by the arm and 'sploosh!' in she went…"

Thorny said, "Maybe you did get caught off guard. But tricking your sister into that boat was a very stupid thing to do. You were lucky this time, but next time you might not be so lucky." His eyes narrowed. "Get this into your heads. I don't want either of you going against the run of Nature. We are foxes…we live in the sunlight and fresh air. Just you remember what happened to your mother. She got to see the Queen of the Wells too, and most folk that do never come back!"

Thorny was raised to believe naiads caused ships to sink so they could snatch sailors with their magic caps and make them their slaves. He believed that a naiad lived five centuries and then turned back to sea foam on the sunset of their 500th birthday, with no immortal soul to keep their dreams alive. And though Thorny was raised by otters and should have had broader views about river folk, he feared for his daughter's safety and resolved she would not be endangered again.

***

After all the excitement, the long-dreaded trip across the Wells was a mere boat ride. She did feel a tear slip down her cheek when Bellweather Otter put his paw on her shoulder…the signal that they had passed her Mum's resting place. Yet still through the joy of seeing Holly again, the odd delights of her splendid house—for Holly was well-to-do—and all the temptations of West Byron, her mind kept returning to the Queen of the Wells and the puckish little tour guide Triana who once murmured, "I think you're wonderful."

And Star thought Triana very wonderful indeed. Though she adored the housekeeper's daughter Dawn Willowtree, and though they were both vixens of the same age, something about Triana was akin in ways that surpassed their obvious differences. Triana was a dreamer, only she had the courage to live out her dreams. Triana had been clear to the Great Eastern Sea, and what's more she had made the trip unescorted! Such an amazing father she must have, and yet what a mystery he was. Star had asked to see him, and Triana had awkwardly made a series of polite excuses. It seems that overworlders were also the subject of rumors and legends, not all of them kind.

And so a week went by of daily adventures in West Byron and nightly adventures in her dreams of the Wells. Of the two it was the Wells that obsessed her. And sad as it was to bid farewell to her Auntie, her thoughts were consumed with the hope of spotting Triana on the trip back. Once again Bellie put his paw on Star's shoulder and pointed out the spot where Clara had died. But this time Star also pointed out the exact spot where the Queen of the Wells rested in state, a fact that little vixens were not expected to know but long-ago first mates were.

"Who told you, dearie?"

"I've been down there and seen it." It was Star's turn to give Bellie a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I saw the captain's cabin, and where he had to leave his morning tea behind."

"It was I that brought him his last beaker of tea, little vixen."

"It wasn't a beaker," Star said, matter-of-factly. "Don't you remember? It was a lovely little blue and white cup and saucer."

"So it was," Bellie said, returning to the rudder and becoming strangely silent for the rest of the journey. Star wisely did not mention Triana. She might have been subjected to an unpleasant lecture about the proper course of nature.

***

On her first night home, Star suddenly awoke from a dream. She crawled out from under the covers and went over to her brother's bed. "Bramble, are you awake?" She heard no response. She shook his blanket lightly. "Hey Bramble, are you awake?"

Again she saw the light of Bramble's eyes. "Sis? Another nightmare?"

"I was at the Queen of the Wells. It wasn't a nightmare."

Just when he was hoping she would tell him to go back to sleep, she sat on the end of his bed. "Want to talk about it?"

"Yes, actually. You met Triana. What is your impression of her?"

"She was nice. A little odd, but after all she lives in the river…"

"She's more than nice. She's my best friend."

"I thought _I_ was your best friend."

"You're my brother. That's better." She thought a moment. "Dad won't let me see her again. What can we do?"

"We? It's not my problem." He sighed. "Besides, you know how Daddy is. It takes him time to make up his mind, but when he does he's an oak tree. You don't move him."

"We have to do _something_. Please, Bramble, help me. Please?"

Bramble sighed again. "Well, I do remember something Mountie said. Beavers are the only overworlders that the river folk trust. Something about a _special relationship_. You ought to start there."

"That's it! I'll go see Mountie!"

"Mountie? If I were you, I'd go straight to the top."

"You mean Mr. B?"

"I said the top. Mrs. B., definitely. I'll take you there tomorrow. I promise." His eyes closed. "Good night, Sis."

She straightened his rumpled blanket and gently tucked him in. "Good night, Bramble. And thanks much."

***

My mother Crystal Beaverlee brought out a tray with lots of wonderful treats; tea and biscuits and even a slice of cake. "I was so hoping to meet you," she said to Star. "Bramble, why didn't you tell me you had such a cute sister? So like her dear mother."

"You knew my mum?" Bramble asked.

"Not well, I must confess. But the last time I saw her I had been in town shopping and I had a terrible headache. I stopped in the Moon and Hare and asked for a cup of tea. Your mother could tell I was out of sorts, and she brought me a big slice of pie with the tea, and she wouldn't let me pay her." She gently caressed Star's cheek with a paw. "Maybe I can pay for it now."

Star reached up and took Mrs. Beaverlee's paw in hers. "Please help me, Mrs. B. I want to see Triana again, but Daddy won't let me."

"Triana Potameides? The naiad?"

"Yes, Ma'am. She's my friend, my best friend. Didn't Mountie tell you about my trip to the Queen of the Wells?"

"No, indeed not," she said with a passing frown. "I guess it slipped his mind." By the way, she reminded me forcefully that evening.

"Daddy thinks I'm messing with the order of nature. He told me not to see her again. He says naiads don't have a soul and are not to be trusted."

Crystal sighed deeply and sat down, pouring herself a cup of tea and using an extra lump of sugar. "He's just being a good father that wants to keep his little girl safe. But he doesn't understand the river folk. You see, the river and the dry land are two different worlds, but they always meet at the bank. It's the same way with the ocean and the shore. Triana is a splendid little girl with a splendid soul. I don't see the harm in speaking with her. Maybe I'll have a talk with Thornton and see what can be done."

"Please don't get us in trouble," Star said.

"Don't you worry your head, dearie. I'm a mother, and I understand how parents think. Leave it to Crystal Beaverlee. If I _happen_ to ask Mountie about your adventure and he _happens_ to tell me you went diving with Triana, it wouldn't be odd for me to talk it over with your daddy." Mum put her arm around Star's shoulder and gave it a little pat. "And he doesn't have to know you came calling."

Star looked thoughtful. "Mrs. B., why do people start awful rumors like that?"

"The same reason why they start rumors about my Horace," she said. "He's gentle and kind in his own way, but he keeps to himself. Some folk treat that as a crime." She looked over at Bramble and smiled. "Every night before he goes to bed, he prays for the family, and he asks the Lord to bless Buck and Bramble for letting our son into their club."

***

One day when Star came home for supper, she saw her father clutching a small cloth bag in his paws. He opened the purse and reverently shook out a few jasper and coral beads into Star's outstretched paws. "This is all that's left of your mother," he said quietly. "Get some cotton twine and string the beads, and you may have it. Such trinkets were meant to adorn the living, and that is how I choose to remember our Clara, in the daughter that grows more like her each day."

From then on, Star was free to meet Triana at the dock, and even to let the naiad teach her how to swim, though Thorny drew the line at diving beneath the surface. That was fine, for Starlight would never forget her trip to the Queen of the Wells, especially when she drank tea from her "special" cup and saucer. As far as I know she still has it hidden away in her cupboard.

In what might seem like a minor afterthought, though it was not, Bramble made Horace Beaverlee an honorary member of the Club With No Name. Though Dad never climbed up to our tree house, he would sometimes come on our fishing trips, and he always greeted us with the secret sign. Sometimes one must dive to the bottom of a mighty river to find the wonders lurking in our own back yard.


	20. The Storm

TWENTY

THE STORM

The skies were leaden gray. A cold November rain engemmed the bare branches and tapped the windowpanes. Buckthorn Badger stared out a window and sighed. He thought spring was wonderful, summer grand, Winter a wonderland. He liked autumn too until the bright hued leaves fell and days turned cold and rainy.

Then he saw a bedraggled fox pup approaching. His whole outlook changed. "Oy! Mum! It's Bramble!"

"What's he doing about in this rain? Fetch him in!"

Buck went to the door and opened it. Bramblewood Foxworth stood on the front stoop shivering, his normally fluffy fur soaked and his fine tail hanging limply.

"Oh, you're wet to the skin!" Buck said.

Bramble held his paws up in front of his face and looked at them. "You think so?"

"Sit you by the fire," Mrs. Badger said. "I'll get you some hot tea."

He was only too glad to gravitate to its cheerful warmth. His eyes half closed and his arms raised. That could only mean one thing…

"Wait!" Jasmine said, "Not in my…"

It was too late. Bramble shook off, sending drops of water flying in all directions.

Mrs. Badger got a towel. "Dearie, next time please use the front stoop to ring out."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"That's all right. Let me towel you off before you catch your death."

She rubbed him down, and then bundled him up like a mummy before going to fetch his tea. Most riverbankers were not well to do folk, and the Badgers were no exception, but they were never stingy with their possessions. Oakley and Jasmine were used to rescuing furlings from the teeth of inclement weather, and when Buck was caught out in a storm, they knew someone would open their doors to him. Oddly enough, we never knew we were poor, and even if we had, it wouldn't have mattered one bit.

As Jasmine gently dried out his ears, she asked Bramble, "What are you doing out on a day like this?"

"It was a matter of life or death," he intoned. "Star wanted me to be her magic pony. Knights I can handle, even an enchanted Prince, but not the magic pony bit. Some things a body can't stand, even for his own sister."

"What do you want to do first?" Buck asked.

"Oh, I don't know. What do _you_ want to do?"

"Well we could pretend you're a Knight in shining armor, or an enchanted Prince…"

"Don't say it, Buck…"

"…but you know what I _really_ want to do?"

"You're playing with your life…"

Buck smiled with mischief. "I was _going_ to say we could play checkers in front of the fire before you interrupted me…"

"Best two out of three," Bramble said sternly. "And don't even _mention_ the you-know-what or I'll be off in a wink!"

There was another knock at the door. When Buck opened it, there stood his miserable father, soaked to the skin. Mr. Badger was still clutching the small cloth over his head that had failed to keep him one bit drier.

"Daddy? What are you doing home?"

"It's too wet to dig, Bucky. The lads were in mud up to their knees so we called it off."

It was only after he'd walked halfway to the fireplace that Buck noticed his own father's muddy legs.

"Look at the floor!" Buck said, tracing the line of muddy spoor back outside. "Mum will be fit to burst!"

"About what?" Mrs. Badger asked. She looked up from drying Bramble and gasped. "Oakley! My floor!"

"Shall I go back on the porch?" Mr. Badger said, shivering.

"No, just stand on the hearth," Jasmine said. "I'll get the mop…" She was upset, but after looking at the soggy lump of misery standing before her, she had to crack an indulgent smile.

***

Buck and Bramble were wrapped up in a game of checkers, but nothing distracted Jasmine from her vigil at the window. From time to time she would stare at the trees thrashing in the gusting wind and whenever lightning would strike nearby she would flinch. "I wonder," she said at last, "if we shouldn't close the shutters?"

Oakley knew she meant that _he_ should close the shutters, and since he was just beginning to dry out, he coyly changed the subject.

"I remember the tornado that came through here when I was young. You remember it, don't you, Jasmine? I was looking right out my window when I saw a dark funnel cloud forming. When it touched down, I could see things flying up in the air. It was like a big living thing. Did you see it?"

"Yes. I remember having to go around the house and shutter all the windows…"

There was that word "shutter" again…

"It took down a couple of trees at the house where I grew up," he quickly added. "At least the house was spared. Some folks weren't so lucky and we had houseguests for months."

"So did we."

Oakley nodded. "Thing is, you always hope for the best and prepare for the worst." His words were underscored by a bolt of lightning that shook the house.

Jasmine saw Bramble cringe. "Dear, let's not scare the furlings." She went to the fireside and stroked Bramble's shoulder reassuringly. "Now dears, don't worry about tornadoes this time of year. Besides we haven't had one in a very long time, and likely we won't have another for ages. Everything will be fine, just you wait and…"

Just then, a deafening boom made the dishes in the cupboard rattle. There was a crackling followed by a loud crash that shook the whole house. There was no doubt what had happened, and the only question was how bad the damage was.

Jasmine ran upstairs. In a moment she shouted, "Oakley! Come quick!" Mr. Badger and Buck bounded up the stairs. When they found Mrs. Badger, she was standing in Buck's room, staring in horror at the damage.

Where there used to be a wall was a huge open hole and jammed through it the crown of an oak tree. She shrieked, not because of the hole in the wall but at Buck's bed that was smashed right down the middle. It was as if the tree had attacked her furling. Jasmine saw Buck standing nearby and crushed him in a hug, kissing him and sobbing, "Bucky! My Bucky! What would I have done if you'd died? I'd rather die myself! I would, Bucky, I would!"

"I'm all right, Mum. Nobody died."

His words did nothing to assuage her rush of emotion so he just held her tightly, thankful for his safety and her love.

"Where's Bramble?" Oakley said. He looked about but in the midst of all the hurly burly, the fox pup had disappeared. Mr. Badger hurried downstairs and looked about. "Bramble? Ho, lad! Are you all right? Bramble??"

"Mr. Badger?" came a timid voice. Bramble looked out from under the dining room table, quaking like an aspen leaf. Despite his pluck, Bramblewood Foxworth was fearful about a great many things and lightning storms were near the top of his list.

"That's the only tree close to the house. It's safe to come out now."

The fox pup emerged timidly. "Is everyone all right?"

"_I'm_ not all right," Oakley said. "I could use a good hug." Luckily, Bramble had one. They clung to each other until the shock had passed into a dull aching acceptance of the truth. Rain was pouring in through the hole and if something weren't done at once the ceiling would start to drip. Bramble, who had just started to dry out, trudged back into the rain to go get help.

***

Dad and I showed up decked in our rain capes and tim tuckers, carrying our largest two-grip saw, rope and hatchets. Among riverbankers, anyone's misfortune was everyone's problem and we did not shirk our duty. We looked at the shattered ruins of the big tree with Mr. Badger. The pungent smell of fresh cut oak made our nose wrinkle. Any beaver will tell you that sassafras and maple are a pleasure to work, but oak is a bitter and irksome timber.

The tree had been split at the main crotch. On what was left of the trunk were large patches denuded of bark by the heat of the blast. We could see the path the lightning took to the ground for long splinters like walking staffs littered the ground where the old giant burst at the seams.

It was clear the rest of the tree left standing was fatally wounded and dangerously lopsided. It would have to go eventually which was a shame, for that tree harked to the days when Alistair Cutshaw built the first settlement on the Wells. The sad remnants of one of Buck's kites were tangled in one of the branches, but what was truly dreadful was the huge gaping wound it punched in the roof and upstairs wall of the Badger home.

Thankfully it had not weakened the house past repair. The first priority was to get the wood out of the house before it could work any more harm. The first couple of cuts would be all important. We rigged up a windlass and made some marks on the trunk with a hatchet where to cut. Oakley helped as best he could, and it was lucky for us that he knew his knots so well.

For those of you who don't know, in addition to its unpleasant reek, oak is one of the hardest woods around, and lightning fuses it hard as stone. At least our saw had been freshly sharpened and was up to the task.

After the first big cut, the big limb that pierced the roof fell out under its own weight. A steady pull on the rope caused it to slowly tip away from the house and land safely in the yard.

***

Word travelled fast in Byron on Wells. More help began to arrive. Thorny came to make sure his son was all right and ended up staying to help. He thoughtfully removed the shattered remnants of Buck's bed without calling Jasmine's attention to it, and he dragged the bedclothes and rugs downstairs to dry out by the fire.

Bellweather Otter came with a large sail that he spread over the roof and tied into place. It cut off the rain and wind from the inside and made it possible for poor Jasmine to win her battle against the weather as she mopped up the mess and banished leaves and twigs to the outside.

Vicar Chios popped in. He had left his hot meal and warm fire to check on us. I never realized how many cold meals he ate until I became a Vicar myself. "Thank Aslan no one was hurt," the faun said, heading upstairs to inspect the damage. He took note of their needs to see if some money from the communal assurance fund would be needed. After some talk and meditation, his promise, whispered to Oakley, brought the badger a sigh of relief.

The work went on well into the night to secure the house against the elements. Though it was still missing part of a wall, Buck's room was dry and reasonably warm. Still, it was certain Buck would be sleeping by the fire for at least a while.

After the hard labor was over, Horace, Thorny, Bellie and Oakley all retired to sit in front of the fire in high back chairs and nod off a bit. And Jasmine had nothing to say about the muddy prints on her floor.

***

Some of the oak's timber found new life replacing the broken rafters and joists. Much of the rest was paid for by assurance funds. By the middle of December the only remnants of the drama were a large stump in the yard and, of course, our memories. Buck's sleep pattern got back to normal, and he no longer jumped at strange noises.

Oh, there was one other thing: Bellweather Otter came by on Christmas Eve with a very special present for Buck, an ornately carved wooden bed. Though it was freshly painted, the shape of the turned legs and beaded beams looked just like the ones on his prized banquet table. No one ever saw his table after that day, and though he never owned up to it, such a sacrifice wouldn't surprise me at all. As I said, riverbankers are like that; the poorest folk—and yet the wealthiest folk—in all Narnia.


	21. The Christmas

TWENTY-ONE

THE CHRISTMAS

It was Christmas Eve, and the first snow of the season had changed nature's wardrobe from crispy brown to sparkling white. The lodge was rimmed with ice sickles and the freshly flocked countryside looked splendid. I could hardly wait to plunge into the inviting drifts but Mum stopped me at the door with a wool cap, scarf and mittens. There was no leaving home until I'd passed her inspection. "You'll catch your death," she said. Mothers are always saying that.

Once I was fortified against the cold, I walked out across the hard crust on the snow, mostly staying topside but sometimes punching through to the cold powdery underlayer. Mum would have done better to outfit me in snowshoes rather than mittens.

I heard Bramble's voice cry, "Look out!" Before I could duck, I got pasted with a snowball. Buck and Bramble had a good laugh as I scraped the soggy mess off my face.

"Hey, you blokes!" As quickly as I could I returned fire one back but Buck and Bramble dodged my missiles behind a large, relatively shapeless lump of snow with a smaller round lump on top. "Build a snow castle, did you?"

"No," Buck said, "that's supposed to be you!"

It didn't look very like a beaver. In fact it didn't look much like a snow beaver. "We had a little trouble with the tail," Bramble said.

I nodded and walked about it like an art critic. "Not bad. Not bad at all." Saying that with a straight face was not bad either. Where I learned patience from Mother, I learned the art of shrewdness from my father.

"I brought my skates," Buck said. "May we use your pond?"

"Better not," I advised. "Dad says it's not safe yet. You'll fall in and catch your death of cold."

I realized I was beginning to sound just like my mother and that thought rather than the cold made me shiver.

"I can't catch a cold. I'm doing the solo at Lord Cutshaw's Christmas party tonight."

I knew that. Half the town knew that by now. Buck was reveling in the supposed quality of his voice. Fact is, he was nice and loud and could be heard above the choir. I was in the choir too, safely anonymous which is just the way beavers like it. Even standing up there would take some doing…we're naturally shy creatures…but the choristers would get to stay up till midnight with the adults and that was worth any discomfort.

***

Bertram Otter knocked on the Vicarage door. When his first gentle rapping did not produce immediate results he pounded urgently. There was a sound of muffled shouting, a clicking of cloven hooves across a wooden floor, then a fumbling with the lock. Chios opened the door looking rather flustered.

"Shall I scrape my dinner off the floor before it gets cold?"

Bertram doffed his cap. "Sorry, Vicar, but it's rather urgent. Tonight I'm going to be Nellie Cutshaw's date for the dance."

"That's splendid. Congratulations. Now I…"

"It's a disaster, that's what it is."

"I thought you fancied the lass."

"I do. But I'm awkward. Now don't deny it, I really am a little on the clumsy side, and I don't know a lick about dancing. I need lessons and I need them fast. Anyhow, I thought of you right away. If there is anyone that can shake ankles it's a faun."

"Thanks for such a kind…and unusual…compliment." He stroked his beard. "Hmm, nothing like waiting until the last minute." Chios looked down at his hooves, glanced at Bertie, sweeping up and down him with his eyes. "You couldn't do faun dances if your life depended on it…but…" He brightened. "Your cousin Bellweather is one otter that knows his way around the dance floor."

"Old Bellie? A dancer?" Bertie laughed. "Garn, Vicar, you're tugging my tail!"

"Trust me son, he can teach you all the modern dance steps…the minuet, the reel, even the waltz. He owes me a large favor and it's high time I called it in. Come lad, we have no time to lose."

***

At the Moon and Hare, on his morning break, Thornton Foxworth was putting some last minute touches on his son's new cane fishing pole. He was winding a grip on the handle with twine and planned to finish it off with a bit of waterproof varnish. Last Christmas, their first without Clara, was bleak and lonely. Thorny was determined that this year Bramble and Star would have a real Christmas.

He heard someone coming, and fearing it might be Bramble, he hid the fishing pole.

***

Mom, Dad and I volunteered to help decorate the dining hall. They spread white linens on the banquet tables and rimmed the windows with holly and evergreen boughs. Sprigs of wheat from last year's crop were taken from storage, bound with red and purple ribbons, and sat in the middle of the tables to form centerpieces and lion banners were suspended down the middle of the ceiling and along the walls. The fragrance of the fresh cut boughs and the new candles was intoxicating.

I was rather glad Mom and Dad asked me not to get underfoot, for I had the run of Cutshaw House. I did what was expected of a young, curious buck, rapping on the suits of armor to make sure they were empty, and looking at all the paintings of various cousins, uncles, aunts and ancestors of varying vintage. One stodgy looking chap in a lace collar and an ostrich plumed cap made me giggle uncontrollably. "Rothbart Van Otterbein." Even his name was funny! I tucked my paw in my jacket, elevated my nose slightly and puffed out my chest. It was a good thing there were no mirrors nearby.

I heard merry laughter behind me. It was Nellie Cutshaw, who had walked up behind me unawares.

"Greetings, milord!" she said, bowing.

"Miss Cutshaw…I'm…excuse me…"

"Oh no, please don't go! Mountebank, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I think you're kind of cute," she said, mussing me with a paw between my ears. "Why don't I take you in the kitchen sweetie and fetch you some fruit punch."

"I'd like that, ma'am."

"Stop calling me ma'am," she said with a musical laugh, "or I'll start calling you Master Beaverlee."

"All right…Nellie." I managed a smile. From that moment on, even when she became Lady of the Manor and I became a Mage, it was always Nellie and Mountie between us.

***

Rainbow Aspinall was practicing for her role as Lady Light. She showed up in her flowing white robe and wore a wreath of unlit candles on her head.

Woodrow, her brother, was dressed in a green robe. He was going to play Springtime. He climbed on the bier that had been decked with white sheets to look snowy and crossed his arms over his chest. "All right, I'm in position."

"Good," Rainbow said. "After I kiss you I want you to silently count to three before you open your eyes. Don't just pop up like a rabbit."

"You're not really going to kiss me are you? You can just bend down and look like it, can't you?"

"Don't worry, Woody, I'm going to kiss you on the forehead, not the mouth."

His expression betrayed that even that thought was slight comfort. "Eww!"

Woodly Aspinall was busy tacking up a bit of mistletoe in the center of the doorframe. "Honeybunch," he asked urgently, "come here. I need you." His wife followed him into the doorway and then he reached over and kissed her.

"What was that for?"

"It's an ancient custom. And since it involves kissing such a beautiful girl, it can't be all bad, hmm?"

"As long as it works both ways," she said, kissing him back. "Now keep your mind on your work. There's a lot to do and we mustn't look like slackers before the Beaverlees."

***

As the guests began to arrive, Cutshaw House was lit brightly with all the fires keeping things warm and candles everywhere.

A lovely vixen came up to Thornton Foxworth and saw him dressed in an apron. "Didn't get the night off on Christmas Eve?" she asked, scandalized. "What a shame!"

"Hollyberry," he said, looking a bit embarrassed, "Nickaby needs me. I can't turn him down and leave him in the lurch on his big night…he's been like a father to me and so good to my furlings."

"I was kind of hoping we'd get to spend some time together. You've been hard to find since our Clara died."

His head bowed and his ears drooped. "Well…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. All I mean is I'm not just your sister in law, I'm more like your sister and I'm every bit Bramble and Star's auntie. Her loss…tragic as it is…changes none of that, Thorny. I lost a sister and I don't need to lose you too. Don't block me out."

"You are an important part of my life, Holly, and the furlings love you dearly. I just don't get out much these days. Please don't be upset." He came forward and slipped his arms around her, kissing her cheek.

Nickaby Otter came up unexpectedly. "Oh ho, Thorny! Aren't we full of surprises tonight?"

"I suppose." Thornton smiled sheepishly, and then stalked off to the kitchen.

The band started to play, and they did a splendid job.

Oakley Badger was bringing Jasmine some punch when the band began to play. He sat the cup down. "Dearest, shall we dance?"

The badgers went out onto the dance floor. Buck used the opportunity to check out all the various and sundry confections on the dessert table. There was plenty of cake, sweet biscuits, jam and cream filled éclairs made with genuine Calormen cane sugar! He took several treats up in a large napkin and ran off with his treasure trove.

***

After the first set of dances was over, the furlings were called up to the head of the room. "And now," the Vicar said joyously, "our choir is going to treat us to Christmas Snow. Tonight's soloist will be…" Chios looked about. "I think he will be…"

Oakley looked about, embarrassed. Finally, in sheer exasperation, he called out, "Buckthorn Badger??"

There were a few snickers and stifled giggles in the crowd and Oakley turned to Chios. "Do you have an understudy?"

"Yes. Mountebank has a splendid voice."

At once the blood in my veins turned to ice water. "Please, Vicar," I stammered, "Let Bramblewood do it. He's a better singer and it would mean a lot to his dad."

Chios nodded and called out loudly enough to be heard clear back to the kitchen. "Tonight's featured soloist is Bramblewood Foxworth."

We in the choir started into a background with the higher voices doing "loo loos" and the deeper voices just humming. It was a joyful sound and betrayed many hours of practice. Above it Bramble's furling soprano rose clear and heartfelt. Thorny, still dressed in his apron, stepped through the kitchen door and leaned against a pilaster to listen with pride, wonder and love.

_Christmas Snow is drifting deep_

_Silent stars their vigil keep_

_All the world is sound asleep_

_Waiting Christmas Morning_

_Longer days are drawing near_

_When the blossoms reappear_

_But tonight we're gathered here_

_Waiting Christmas Morning_

_Hold your friends and family nigh_

_Raise your voices to the sky_

_Ever lift your spirits high, _

_Waiting Christmas Morning_

Where was Buck? When Oakley saw him come staggering in he was relieved. "Where were you, lad? You missed your big solo!"

"Sorry, Dad."

"Well, there's always next year. But I saved you a nice éclair…"

Buck heaved, grabbing his stomach with one paw and covering his mouth with the other, and hurried back into the night.

***

The festivities paused for a rather extraordinary performance of the return of Lady Light and the wakening of Springtime. "Don't fidget," Violet said, trying to light the candles on her daughter's head. When the last one was lit, she gave the sign to begin. Faun Chios woke his enchanted harp and the mood turned magical. A hush fell over the room as his music depicted the spring birds and warm breezes. Rainbow looked lovely in her white gown, the light shining about her face like an angel. She went to the bier where Woodrow lay with his paws across his chest.

_"Behold the Springtime, still as death,_

_And yet, milords, he only sleeps!_

_One kiss upon the brow shall rouse _

_This silent dreamer from his bed."_

She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. Woodrow was a good sport and he concealed his disgust, or more likely reveled in being at the center of attention. He counted three silently then opened his eyes, sat up, took her paw and rose from the bier.

_"'Tis time to call the lark and wren?_

_'Tis time to clothe the sward with green?_

_The Lion's promise made of old_

_Is anxious to be realized." _

She raised her paws toward Heaven.

_"Rejoice, my Lord, it shall be time._

_When you shall wreathe the hills and dales_

_With daffodils and violets._

_And teach the nightingale to sing."_

Woodrow put his arm about her waist and looked up.

_"Then let us go to crack the ice_

_To brush away the drifting snow_

_And keep the promise of our Lord_

_That light and life shall never die."_

"Bravo!" cried Lord Cutshaw. He began to clap and the room became alive with heartfelt applause. Rainbow and Woodrow quickly headed back to the kitchen with embarrassed smiles to get the candles snuffed and to shinny out of their robes. Woodly and Violet were pleased as punch and gave their young ones a big hug.

As for poor me…my embarrassment had only begun. Now that Rainbow Aspinall was free from her obligations as I was from mine, it was expected for me to ask her to dance. Both her parents and mine thought we would make a "cute couple" and were anxious to see us together on the dance floor. I rather wanted to curl up and die and so I quickly hid.

It wasn't too many minutes later that along came Dad. He looked at once under the tablecloth where I was hidden.

"How did you find me?"

"Son, you should tuck in if you're going to hide from me," he said amused. It seemed that just like Buck and Bramble, I had a little trouble with the tail. "Humor the girl. It's Christmas Eve. She likes you, and you like her too, don't you?"

"Not enough to make a fool out of myself."

"Everyone's entitled to make a fool out of themselves at Christmas. At least you didn't have to spout off poetry while she kissed you."

I conceded that point. Since there was someone else in the house less lucky than I, then I could face my fear as bravely as Woodrow Aspinall. So I sought Rainbow out and managed by the hardest to ask her if she would dance with me.

"I'd rather not," she said quietly. "I don't know how."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and took her off to introduce her to Buck and Bramble.

***

Thornton Foxworth stood spellbound watching Oakley and Jasmine dance. How happy they looked together, how much in love after all those years! A distant voice echoed in his memory. "Hello, stranger," Clara had said. "Are you going to invite me to dance or just burn a hole through me with your eyes?"

How lovely she was. Her hazel eyes still shone in Starlight, her musical laugh echoed in Bramblewood. How blissfully they had danced the night away. Many foxes were in love with her and some tried to cut in on their dancing. Thorny, poor as he was, had felt that dance would be his only chance to take Clara in his arms and he made the most of it. And yet as the night drew on, even Thorny came to accept that his chances with her had grown. When his courage reached the sticking point he blurted out, "I don't have much to offer you, but it's all yours for the taking. I love you Clara. I love you with all my heart, and I always have."

"I've always loved you too," she said, kissing him. "You may be poor, but you'll be my fortune and everything will be all right as long as we have each other."

As his sad reverie dimmed and died, Thorny stood there as empty as the cup he was drying. "We don't have each other now," he sighed.

Then he felt a paw on his shoulder. He gasped and turned about to see Holly standing right behind him.

"How long have you been there?" he asked.

"Long enough, Thorny," she said gently. "You were a better dancer than you were a cook. The last dance is coming up. Let's see if you're still light on your feet."

"But I'm on duty…"

He stared at her. How like Clara she looked. Deep down inside he felt like it would be cheating on his wife. Yet he also felt like he was shoving his wife away. The opposing forces threatened to tear him in half.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she said, "Clara wouldn't mind. Come on, let's take a spin on the dance floor."

"How about Nickaby?"

"Let him find a nice otter," she said with a laugh—Clara's laugh.

Nickaby came up and winked. "It's Christmas. Take off that apron, son, and live a little. I can handle the dishes."

"Are you sure?"

"It's my present to you. Remember lad, this can be the happiest day of the year…or the loneliest. Use your chances wisely."

He looked at the vixen that had a more than passing resemblance to his beloved. He bowed. "Holly, would you do me the honor of this dance?"

"I'd love to."

Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Nickaby Otter talking with the bandleader. He felt a mixture of dread and desire creep over him.

_Borne on the breast of the moonlight_

_Silvery stars up above_

_Gently surrender their luminous splendor_

_To my true love_

_Hark how the nightingale silenced_

_Hushed is the coo of the dove_

_Whene'er is winging the beautiful singing_

_Of my true love…_

Wide-eyed, Thorny started to back away, but tenderly Holly took him in her arms and started to pull him out into the dance floor.

"That was our song," he said.

"I know. I had Nickaby tip the band leader when he asked me to dance with you."

"He asked? You tipped the band leader?"

"This is the night of love," the vixen said. That old otter loves you. Bramble and Star love you. I love you. Either fight the four of us or dance with me."

He might have fought her and he might have fought the song but he could not hope to outwit both. He rested his paw on her shoulder, sweeping back in a wide curve and lofting her into the center of the floor. She was right about his dancing. His bold moves caught their attention and the crowd parted. Onlookers paused in wonder to watch the lowly helpmate at the Moon and Hare capture the magic of the music. Love radiated from them, joy sparkled and grace abounded. No one that saw them dance that Christmas Eve night ever forgot it.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "You dance divinely," she said. He was lost in a dream of happiness. The order of nature had been upset and time began to work backwards. Two lonely years had rolled back and for a moment all was as it should have been. Holly understood that it was Clara he was dancing with, but she did not mind.

***

The dance ended right as the mechanical clock struck the hour of midnight. Bertie Otter took Nellie's paws in his. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Bertie." She looked down. "I got so excited about the dance I forgot to buy you a present."

"I only want one thing. The key to your heart."

She smiled. "I never kept it locked."

He swallowed heavily. "I can be a funny bloke at times. Like when I fell into the millpond. It's all right to laugh at that, but if you laugh at what I'm about to say, I'll die. I'll just die."

"Mr. Otter, if it's what I think it is, I'd never laugh." She gave him a quick kiss.

"Nellie, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Bertie. Yes I will!" She embraced him tightly.

***

Thornton went to the kitchen to be alone. After two lonely years he had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold a vixen in his arms and see the tender lightning flash in her stormy eyes. He leaned against the wall, happy at first then feeling tears well up in his eyes. At first he was not sure if they were borne of joy or sorrow, then he was quite sure. The despair of being profoundly alone on the night of profound love overcame his resolve.

Nickaby walked up behind him. "Everything all right, Thorny?"

"As fine as can be expected, you old meddler."

The otter put his arms about the trembling foxes' shoulder and gave him a firm pat. "Thorny, you were so good to me when Elsie died. I've tried to be as good to you about your Clara. Everything I did tonight, I did for you. You're my son, not in name but deep inside where it truly counts. If I hurt your feelings in any way…"

Thornton turned about to face Nickaby Otter. That grizzled, round bewhiskered otter face looked positively angelic. "It's not your fault," Thorny said. "For a moment there, it was like old times. That was quite a present." The fox embraced Nickaby and said, "Deep inside where it truly counts, I've always loved you too. I don't say it very often, but I feel it every day."

Nickaby gave him a pat. "I almost forgot. There are a couple of packages for you on the loading dock. They were left by some jolly fat bloke with white whiskers who said he was Father Christmas."

Thornton nodded, drying his eyes. "I lost my grip for a bit, but I'm all right, now. Father Christmas, you say? Are you tugging my tail?"

"Find out."

Shortly after he left, Bramble and Star came back to the kitchen. "Grandpa Nickaby, where's Dad?"

"He'll be back in a bit. In the meanwhile, I do believe I have something for you." He reached into his vest pocket and handed two silver crescents each to Bramble and Star. "Merry Christmas to you. Long life and good fortune."

"And to you as well." They both kissed him and he beamed with happiness, proof that Christmas cheer finds a way to all places, even the kitchen.

In a bit, Thornton returned wan and unsteady but with his composure intact. Under his arms were two packages. Bramble and Star mobbed him, hugged him, and he sat the packages down to embrace his furlings tightly.

Star kissed him, feeling his wet cheeks. "Have you been crying, Daddy?"

He kissed Bramble and Star. "My treasures, don't worry about me. I'm fine, really. Besides I got the two best Christmas presents in the world."

"Those packages?"

"No, I mean you two."

"But you had us last year."

"And I have you this year, and you have me. Isn't life wonderful?" He kissed them again. "Let's have no long faces. Besides it's after midnight and technically that makes it Christmas Day right now. I have a present right here for each of you if you want to open them before going to bed."

They hurriedly ripped open the brown paper parcels. Bramble got a deluxe hardwood fishing pole with metal fittings and a reel of fine cord like a real fisher uses. Starlight got a small gold star on a fine chain to wear about her neck.

"Well son, you're fit to catch Old Chucky come spring! And look at you, Princess!"

Bramble was awestruck. "I knew you were going to make me a fishing pole, but I didn't know it would be quite so fancy."

"It wasn't," Thorny admitted. "It was a cane pole and the string was twine. I'm kind of ashamed to let you see it since you got this one."

"Don't be ashamed," Bramble said. "Buck doesn't have a fishing pole. He's always borrowing mine. May I give him the cane pole as a Christmas present?

"Yes! What a wonderful idea! I'm so proud of you!"

"First time I ever gave him a present," Bramble said, a smile spreading across his face. "And besides, he's not getting his paws on THIS one. He broke my last two."

Thorny smiled. The Foxworths had a Merry Christmas after all.


	22. Discovering Names

TWENTY-TWO

DISCOVERING

NAMES

It was one of the finer days of late March when winter, sensing defeat, tried to withdraw gracefully before the advance of spring. Nickaby Otter took advantage of the warm afternoon to climb atop the Moon and Hare and help Thornton Foxworth re-thatch the roof.

"You couldn't ask for a better day to go topside," the old otter said. "It's a Heaven sent chance to get things ship shape before the spring rains."

"The thatch had to go," Thorny agreed, "but this was a well made roof."

Nickaby smiled. "Best roof money could buy. This house has good bones. It was built as a manor house, you know. When I was a furling this was called 'Otter House' and it only second to Cutshaw House in glamour and shine."

"Oh?" Thorny took another bunch of thatch and fastened it to the rafters. "How did your father come by it?"

Nickaby laughed. "Come by it? Shows you how much you know!" The otter got a bundle of thatch and carefully worked it into the roof. He looked about slyly as if inviting the question.

"Well, are you going to tell me the story?"

Nickaby stopped for a moment and said, "My father was a baronet. Sir Robin Otter. This was his ancestral home."

"Garn!" Thorny said with a chuckle. "Be serious!"

"I'm quite serious. Most of the property in the area was in the estate. Where that rock house stands now used to be a formal garden with a fountain. There was a tree out back where the livery stables are now and I would climb it when I was young. That hook above the fireplace in the serving room was where our coat of arms used to hang."

"You're the baronet now, right?"

"Yes, but don't go saying that to the customers. It's a shameful thing for Sir Nickaby Otter to be waiting tables. Better they not know than wonder why. Still, I wanted you to know. I knew you would appreciate it in the right spirit."

"And I do. So what happened?"

"Daddy was a wonderful chap, with a heart as big as all outdoors. He had grand dreams…and not a whit of business sense. He tried to grow the family fortunes. Grew them straight into the ground, he did."

"Oh, that's awful!"

"He wanted a loan to bail him out, but Colonel Cutshaw advised him not to throw good money after bad. So Old Blood and Guts took on our debts and lent him money to turn this place into a fine business establishment. It was a dreadful shock to me. I was a little dandy that could sing, dance, and write poetry, but I soon learned how to wash dishes."

"Just like me."

"Yes, just like you. That's one of the things that attracted me to you, Thorny. When you first came here as a little furling, you looked so lost and helpless. I wanted to put my arms about you and never let you go. That wasn't the only time, either. Like when your Clara died…"

"And you did." Thorny looked about. "You've never left me in the lurch. I don't know what I would have done without you. I love you, you old cuss. Bramble and Star love you too. And though I shouldn't say this, Bramble is making you a birthday present."

Nickaby smiled. "A present for me? May I ask what it is?"

"He won't even tell me. He says I can't keep a secret."

"And you can't," Nickaby added, smiling broadly. "That little tookie! Well that beats all! I've checked off all my life's goals and now I can die content."

"You'd better not," Thorny said with a smile. "I'd have to finish the roof by myself!"

The otter dropped his bundle of thatch and put his paw over his chest. "Oh, my!"

The fox laughed. "Shame on you, you old jester!" Then after a moment his smile fell. "Nickaby, stop that! It's not funny anymore! Nickaby!"

"It's my heart! Thorny!"

"I'm coming! Hold on!"

The otter looked about, wild-eyed. "I can't breathe!" He held out his paw. "Help me down!"

The fox frantically worked his way over to the old otter and reached out. "Just a bit more…" Yet before Thorny could take his paw, Nickaby collapsed, rolled down the roof and disappeared over the edge.

***

When Bellweather Otter came for Bramble, we all went. All Bellie would tell us is that something was wrong with Nickaby.

I'll never forget that frantic look in the fox's face as we hurried back to the Moon and Hare Inn. Bramble constantly pestered Bellie for details until the otter finally had to say, "All I know is they said to fetch you, all right? I'm worried too. He's my Uncle."

When we got there, Thorny was sitting on the front porch with his arms around Starlight who was crying as if it were the end of the world. The truth was painfully obvious to Buck and I, but Bramble, in a last moment of denial, had to ask, "Is Grandpa Nickaby going to be all right?"

Thorny looked up. "Bramble, my son, you have to be brave."

"No!! He can't die! He just can't!!" The fox pup made a mad dash for the door, but his father grasped him by the arm.

"You can't go in there. He's dead."

Bramble began to sob convulsively, clinging to Thorny. Buck and I did not know Nickaby well, but our friend Bramble was in pain. Somewhere along the way our _Club Without a Name_ had become a _family_. We joined the Foxworths, grieving together, connected by a love stronger than blood. Time and tides have never broken that bond.

***

The Moon and Hare Inn was shuttered and the sign was draped with a black scarf. What pitiably few personal possessions Thorny and his furlings had were placed into a modest sized box, carted outside and set on the curb.

The fox was crestfallen, looking at the tiny confines of his remaining world. Gone was the home where his brief happiness with Clara shone with rosy splendor, the room where Bramble and Star were born, the great hall where he had danced with Holly and the lobby where he held dying Nickaby in his arms. The Moon and Hare was more than an inn, it was the stage where all the important acts of Thorny's life unfolded. Every timber, every stone, every fixture held memories. Without them he was adrift in a sea of frightening uncertainties.

***

In that darkest of hours, Oakley Badger and Buck showed up. "Well Thorny, you get your end of the box and we'll lift it on the count of three."

"Where are we going?"

"Home." Oakley smiled. "Jasmine is making her special beef stew to welcome you. You haven't eaten stew till you've had hers."

"Oh but I couldn't!"

"You will, or you'll have to do without your things. We're taking this box and that's final."

Buck gave Bramble a pat on the back. "Just think, we'll be together all day long! It will be a pip!"

Bramble looked at his father pleadingly. He said nothing…his look spoke volumes. Thorny rested a paw on Bramble's shoulder and gave him a pat. He could not allow his own pride to hurt his furlings.

"Well," he said quietly, "I guess we'd best be off then."

***

The lazy moon sailed calmly through a sea of stars. For most of the townsfolk, a peaceful sleep bridged the gap from dusk to dawn. And yet Thorny couldn't sleep. He was confronted with a strange bed, somber thoughts, a flood of old memories and a host of new problems. As he sat up alone in the guest bedroom, poking at the fire, lost in his thoughts, Starlight came to him.

"Can't sleep?" she asked.

"I'm busy thinking about the future, Princess. Coming up with a plan for us now that things have changed."

"What's the plan, Dad?"

"I haven't settled all the details yet," he said, poking the fire again.

"Have you settled any of them yet?" she asked.

"Only one, but it's the most important one." He put his arm around her. "You and Bramble and I all have to stick together and work as a team. We lost our home, and that's a terrible thing, but as long as we have each other, that's the most important thing."

"What can I do, Dad?"

"Well for one thing, you can be brave for Bramble."

A sleepy voice asked, "Did someone call me?"

Thorny motioned the sleepy pup over and put his other arm about him. "How did you know your old daddy needed a hug?"

"Lucky guess," he said, leaning his face against Thorny.

***

Two tables in the great room of the Moon and Hare were pushed together, draped with the best tablecloth. Sir Nickaby Otter lay among flowers, candles, and a scattering of silver crescents left by well-wishers. He looked asleep, and Thorny went right up to him and kissed his forehead. "Thanks for everything." Then the fox put his paw over Nickaby's, but it was cool and rigid and reminded him they were in two very different worlds. He drew back his paw and stood there at a loss, the thought that he was late for work nagging him like an insane notion of normalcy flouting death itself. How he wished he were late for work! What he would have given to hear his loud, gruff voice shouting, "What's your excuse this time??" His head bowed and tears streamed down. "I love you," he quietly murmured. "I've lost my father twice."

Nickaby's daughter Sally came up and slipped an arm around his shoulder. "Thornton, they shouldn't have carried out your box or taken your key. It was the advocate that did that, not me. I want you to know I didn't put you and the furlings put out on the street."

"I understand."

"I also want you to know Daddy asked me to give you this when he died." She handed him a key on a long string.

His paw trembled as he looked at it. "You mean I get to keep my old cottage? When I get a job, I'll try to pay rent. It won't be much, but it's something."

"It's the key to the front door," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "The Moon and Hare is all yours, down to the last dish and napkin."

"By the Lion!" he stammered. His knees buckled and if Sally hadn't caught him, Thorny would have passed out on the floor.

***

Thornton's grief was balanced somewhat by the thought his parents would have been so proud of him. For the first time since the fire that left him an orphan, he lived in his own home and hired an employee, the widowed vixen Mary Willowtree who was not only a wonderful cook but had a lovely daughter named Dawn who about Bramble and Star's age. The brightest moment in his new life, however, was when he knocked on the Badgers' door.

Oakley answered, "Well now, what can I do for you, Thorny?"

"It's what I can do for _you_, dear friend. Life is uncertain and the people you count on may be taken from you suddenly. That's a fine boy you have, Mr. Badger. If anything should ever happen to you or the Missus, Lord forbid, I want you to know that my home is open to him or to any of you…or to _all_ of you. I may be just an innkeeper, but…"

Buck called downstairs, "Do we have company?"

"Yes," Oakley said, "It's your Uncle Thorny popping in for tea!" He put his arm around Thornton's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, and ushered him in.

The fox smiled. "Uncle Thorny" had a nice ring to it.


	23. Brotherly Love

TWENTY-THREE

BROTHERLY LOVE

It was later that spring when the smooth course of our life took a sharp turn. I thought Mom was sick when Dad fetched Chios, our Vicar, to see her. The old faun examined her thoroughly, then chuckled and shook his head. "You're not the oldest beaver couple ever to have a child," he told Mum and Dad, "but you're certainly the oldest in Byron on Wells." He nudged my father. "You old rascal you!"

For the next couple of days Mum and Dad waged a careful diplomatic campaign, each trying to find out how the other one felt about "it" first. There were references to the "blessed event" and "the more, the merrier," but neither speculated openly on "where would the money come from?" or "how will we find the energy at our age?" When they finally broke down and admitted that they were both delighted but had serious reservations, it was better all around. From that moment they began thinking practically.

Despite the threat that our comfortable routine would be turned on its head, Mom and Dad began to like the idea more and more as they got used to it. To them this surprise was nothing less than a gift from Aslan, a sign of his favor.

***

Now that we were expecting a new family member, Mom was more forthcoming with me about my brother Sam. Even our arrival surprised the Vicar. Not that I ever thought my own folks were old; it was everyone else that had very young parents. Still, her age explained why my brother Sam was sickly and died. His death left Mum feeling guilty that I would grow up alone, if I grew up at all. That's why for a very long time I was kept on a very short leash until Buck and Bramble became my unofficial guardian angels. Only in later years did I find out that my mum "employed" them in this manner, though their salary was paid in hugs, kisses and the occasional sweet treat.

Even with two bodyguards at my side, Mum felt I needed someone in the home that would teach me how to live unselfishly day after day, all hours of the day and night. I was the recipient of all my parents' love, time and attention, and it's really surprising in hindsight that I did not grow up spoiled rotten.

***

Dad became very solicitous with Mum, trying to lend a paw in everything. She drew the line at cooking. He was not allowed to touch the stove, even to put wood in the firebox. When it came to the cleaning, mending and tending the flowers he both flattered and dismayed her with his attentions. Mother finally allowed him to continue with the cleaning and dishwashing if I would help in the garden. As she put it, "Mountie's not old enough yet to know everything, so he could still be taught…" One had to admire her subtle but spot-on humor, and it took a sense of humor to deal with Dad when he got stirred up.

Dad let me know that things would have to be a little different around here with a new baby. He cautioned me that a great deal of attention would revolve around the newcomer but that was needful and natural and in no way diminished my place in their hearts. "We have plenty of love to go around, something I think we've never had to say because it's obvious." He added that I would be expected to help out a bit here and there and might have less free time. But on the other paw a brother (he was sure it would be a boy) would look up to me as big brother and I would be the hero he imitated and followed about. "You've never had that before, but it will be good for you."

***

Bramble's reaction was rather blunt. "Babies cry a lot and they smell funny."

"Did you?" I asked.

"That's not the point." He smiled with mischief and added, "My sister still does."

Buck was more diplomatic. "When he's old enough, maybe he'll want to join the club."

Bramble scratched his cheek ruff. "Of course he'll want to join the club! Who wouldn't? Only thing is, what if he's a girl?"

"If he's a girl," Buck said, "maybe he and Starlight can have a club of their own and she'll stop pestering us to join."

Again, I wondered how everyone knew the baby would be a buck, not a doe. Everyone but Mum. She was careful never to express an opinion on the subject, and only let slip one mention of the fact that Rainbow Aspinall was seen in the cutest little bonnet and she wished she had a reason to make one like it.

Mum was so busy granting the wishes of other people, I never really knew what she wanted for herself except for our love and her flowers in the window box. Lord knows, if anyone earned the right to have a wish come true, it was my mother.

***

Then one summer night, the date escapes me, I was awakened by mother's anguished cry. "Horace!"

I sat up in bed, the blood in my veins turning to ice water. I ran down the hall to my parents' room and was about to knock on the door when it opened. My father, a look of horror on his face, said, "Mountie, fetch the Vicar! Shake it up, boy! Tell him to come at once!"

I did not understand. She was not supposed to have the baby for a couple of months.

I ran like I'd never gone before or since. By the time I got to the Vicarage I was winded. I pounded on the door and when that did not get immediate results I got up on my toes and laid into the knocker.

Chios came to the door looking rather flustered at being shaken out of a night's sleep. When he saw my face, his anger evaporated at once.

"What is it, Mountie?"

I was gasping too hard to talk straight but motioned with my paw. "Momma!" I got out.

"I'll get my bag," he said. "I was afraid this would happen."

***

I sat outside the door to my parents' room in an agonized vigil. Straining my ears, I heard snatches of conversation. Dad, heedless of my mother's ban, ran to the kitchen to throw wood in the stove, build a quick fire, and heat a pan of water. It must have set a speed record, but it seemed painfully slow under the circumstances. He got the water to boil, then ran back into the room. Through the briefly open door I saw Mom lying on the bed with Chios holding her paw.

Then I heard my mother's weak sob, footsteps, and the creaking of the door on its hinges. Dad emerged looking tired and shaken.

He put his arms around me. "Mountie, your little sister didn't make it."

"Oh." By then I already had that figured out. "So what do we do now?"

Dad had a little talk with me, and I learned a new word, "miscarriage." I didn't like the word then and I've hated it ever since. He told me that Mum would need a lot of rest in bed and that where I was ready to do my part for the new baby, I would need to help Mum in her hour of need.

"Can I see her?"

"Not yet. Be patient."

We said a prayer together that Mum would be all right and that the soul of our little girl would be happy in Aslan's Country. That's when Dad paused to ask me if I would choose a name for her. I didn't see the point in it, but Dad explained that the girl needed a name when she made friends in Heaven. I said "Clara," because that was Bramble's mother's name and she too had died before her time. Dad said that was wise beyond my years and hugged me tight. "And Lord," he muttered, head bowed, "take care of our little Clara and fold her into your light."

***

Mum was in bed for about a week. It seemed much longer since we had to do everything for ourselves. She was unable to attend the brief ceremony where Clara's ashes were spread over the reservoir, but the Vicar was careful to let her hold the tiny box for a moment first to say goodbye. I coped with my feelings the only way I knew how, going for the first time in a long time to see my reflection and ask Sam to take care of his little sister.

Dad was certainly no cook, but his pitiful efforts were aided by the saintly ministrations of Mrs. Aspinall. Then after that Mum couldn't stand to be in bed any longer and she managed to make her way about. She wanted things to be back to normal…matter of fact we all did…but things were only normal on the surface and one didn't have to scratch deep to find it was only an illusion.

She did her work about the house. She even tended the flowers. And yet she no longer sang about the house. Her depression was profound. She was tired all the time but had trouble concentrating or sleeping nights. Tremblebane in her tea was all that got her what precious little rest she could get. Sometimes I would hear her weeping at the stove over some spilled tea or burned toast and Dad holding her in his strong arms, cooing, "There now, my love. Don't cry; it's only a bit of bread."

***

Another week passed, a very solemn and dark time during which father asked me to be patient and asked Aslan to make him patient too. Buck and Bramble were good about trying to help, but the depth of Mum's despair gave him the horrors when he thought back on how his father nearly lost his mind when his own Clara died. He was afraid that would happen to my Mum. He loved "Mrs. B." dearly and it drove him to distraction that he could not get through to her. He was also very attentive to me, and I became the recipient of his frustrated affections.

Buck was undeterred. He came often and with typical badger stubbornness refused to give up on my Mum. Flowers were appreciated, baked goods nibbled at halfheartedly, but the Crystal Beaverlee he remembered was hard to spot behind those dull, lifeless eyes.

Then Buck came over one day. Said he had a surprise for her, a present that would make her feel much better. He asked me to be there and help, and I was only too glad to oblige. Anything that might help my Mum was worth a try.

He told me to hold out my paw. When I did, he suddenly stabbed my palm with a very large thorn.

I shrieked. Mom gasped. "What do you think you're doing??" I asked.

"I'll show you." He stuck his own paw. Then, face taut with pain, he took his palm and pressed it against mine, then wound a scarf around the hands three times. I forgot to be upset once I realized what he was doing.

"One blood ye and I," he said.

"Brothers forever," I answered.

Though Buck loved me very much, I knew at once he did this for my mother. He looked at her, still in shock. "You don't have to be sad anymore. You wanted more than anything for Mountie to have a brother, and now he does."

"Oh Buck!" she said, "I…" She choked up, unable to finish her sentence. For the first time in my life I saw Mother at a complete loss of words. She embraced the badger, sobbing, kissing him and stroking his head and face with her paw. For a very long time she held him and savored the comfort of his arms about her. I knew I was witnessing something rare and beautiful.

Of all the gifts I've ever seen given, none ever compared with that selfless gesture of pure love. He gave back to my mother the most precious gift of all, the joy of living. Now that's not to say that she ceased to grieve for Clara Beaverlee, or that she didn't have a good cry until the venom slowly worked its way out of her system, but that was the moment she began to heal, and realized how important healing was to us all.

That night as Mother put supper in the kettle over the fire and set the tea to brewing, she did something I had not heard in a terribly long time—she sang. All these years later I can look at the tiny scar in my palm and her sweet music comes back to me.


	24. Star's Secret World

TWENTY-FOUR

STAR'S SECRET

WORLD

Inside every acorn is an oak tree waiting to sprout, and inside every furling is an adult waiting to grow. Yet furlings are quite different from acorns because as they grow, they dream. From their minds spring visions of a better world we adults might claim if we had the courage and resolve.

Starlight Foxworth, Bramble's sister, was quiet on the outside but locked away inside was the vibrant world of her imagination, a place where fairness always prevailed and adventures always beckoned. She was the humble architect of great dreams.

***

Thorny had just worked the evening shift and he was quite tired. Still as he came to the door of Room 22 in the Moon and Hare Inn, he had a lilt in his step and a smile in his soul. That door was a portal from his humble public existence to his private garden of delights. Outside, he was "Thorny" but inside he was "Daddy," a name that was sweet music in his ears.

He looked in. All was quiet. "Star? Bramble?" He stepped inside and glanced about. _"Anybody?"_ His ears sagged and his tail drooped. "Confound it, I don't get much time with 'em. They know I want them home when I get off." He sighed deeply with fatigue and disappointment and headed for his favorite chair.

"Boo!" Bramble shouted, grabbing his father's tail while Star threw a scarf over his head.

"Arrgh! I'll get ye for that!" Thorny threw off the scarf, turned and ran after the laughing furlings, chasing them about the room. "Just _wait_ till I get my paws on you!"

It wasn't a very large room so before long he cornered them, panting and smiling, and opened wide his arms. Bramble and Star ran into his warm embrace and kissed him. "Oh," he sighed happily, "I could just eat you up, ye fond mooks!" His evening shift was forgotten and his eyes half closed as he savored their love. "What happened while I was on duty?"

"I saw a fight today," Bramble said excitedly.

"Anyone we know?"

"Oh yes. You know how Bellweather Otter is always having a go at it with Chumley Hare? Bellie went down to the pawnshop to get his money back. Rotten twine, I believe he said. Anyhow they were shouting, then they were mixing it up, and Bellie was messing Chumley up pretty bad when he saw me standing there. He looked around and said, 'You shouldn't be down here,' and while he was looking at me, Bruno walked up behind him with a jackie and cacked him on the head. He fell like a brick!"

Thorny shook his head. "No wonder he looked at me so strange when he came in for a drink. He's right, you know—you shouldn't hang about when there's trouble brewing."

"Chumley told me to lose myself, and I didn't stop running till I got to the tree house! Buck was napping…he always misses the good stuff."

Thorny half laughed and mussed Bramble between the ears with a paw, then turned his attention to Starlight. "So, Princess, what did you see today?"

"Oh I was lying on top of Crown Hill looking up into the sky at the different shaped clouds, thinking about what they looked like. One really low cloud went by that looked just like a big cream pie. It was so close I could almost touch it. A bird flew right into it and it laughed."

"The bird?"

"No, the cloud. It's ticklish."

"Oh? I'd never heard…"

"Most clouds are, especially the white fluffy kind. Rain clouds are more serious, like they're upset at the whole world. That's why they thunder so much."

"Now thunder I've heard." Thorny smiled, but he was clearly ill at ease. "Princess, seriously, where did you go today?"

"I told you. Crown Hill."

"You know you shouldn't be up there all alone. It's not safe."

"I wasn't alone. The clouds look out for me. Besides, I had to go. They get lonely sometimes and they like to talk. That's why I go up the hill to get close enough to be heard."

"Is that the whole truth?"

Star looked Thorny right in the eye. "Why don't you ever ask Bramble if he tells the whole truth, Dad? Do you think I'm a bad girl?"

"Oh no, Princess. I think you're a very good girl."

"Then why do you always believe him but not me??" She looked away, then turned and stalked out the door, closing it quietly behind her. She didn't slam the door…she never slammed doors. It might have been easier if she had, for he would have had an excuse to be angry. Instead Thorny just looked down and sighed, defeated.

Bramble shrugged. "Daddy, it's not like she's hiding anything from you. She just wants someone to play along with her game. You know how she is…"

"I do know how she is, and that's what worries me. She's been like this for days now." He sighed. "You have Buck and Mountie to keep you out of trouble. She needs looking after." He put a paw on Bramble's shoulder. "I know your club is boys only, but I really, really wish you'd make an exception for your sister."

Bramble's expression was pained. "Daddy, I can't do that. Buck and Mountie would never hear of it, and I can't say I blame them. You never let girls join your club did you?" Bramble looked into his father's eyes for some sort of acknowledgment, but he only saw another casualty of Thorny's lost childhood. "Trust me Dad, it's just not done."

"No," Thorny said, "I suppose it's not. But maybe you could do me a favor. Maybe you could keep an eye on her tomorrow…from a distance."

"You mean spy on her? Isn't that wrong?"

"It seems that way, but you love your sister and you don't want her in trouble, do you lad? Right and wrong are not always clear-cut, and as you grow up you'll come to realize that. I have to make a living for us. I'd do it myself but I can't, so I'm relying on you to be my eyes and ears."

Bramble nodded slowly. "I see. I won't let you down, Dad."

Thorny put his arms around Bramble and held him tightly. "I know you won't, my son. Now have a bit of fun with this. You could get Buck in on it and make a game out of it."

"Mountie, too?"

"I think not. Beavers sneak up on trees, and that's about it." Thorny smiled, running his paw through Bramble's soft red fur. "I need my best spies on this one. She'd be really upset if she caught you, so be careful, and remember it's our little secret."

***

"Is she in some kind of trouble?" Buck asked quietly.

"I hope not," Bramble said. "It looks to me like she's just sitting there."

Indeed for the longest while Star was sitting in a wooded spot next to our reservoir. From time to time she would glance about as if waiting for someone. Bramble thought she might be watching the comings and goings of imaginary folk, but the source of her anxiousness was real enough.

"Look at that!" Buck hissed, "It's Mountie!"

"Hsssh! Keep it down!"

Buck and Bramble saw her walk toward me, smile, whisper something in my ear and give me a quick hug. "Garn," Buck said, "I didn't know he was friends with your sister."

"He isn't. Or at least I thought he wasn't. Pipe down, Buck, I want to hear what they're saying."

Star and I were talking and smiling and from time to time we would gesture and nod, but even Bramble's sharp ears couldn't catch more than the occasional word. Bramble motioned to Buck to get closer. "We have to be very quiet," Bramble said.

"If she heard us, she'd be angry."

"Not angry…it would make her cry."

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I wish I could. I really do. Now come on."

Thorny was right. Buck and Bramble made excellent spies. They kept low and avoided touching sticks, rocks and branches. They were even careful to approach downwind, leaving nothing to chance. Finally they could stop and listen.

"So how did this all come about?" I asked.

"Well everyone thinks daddy is a dishwasher, but he's really Lord Thornton, Baron of Apton." Star looked into the sky as if lost in thought. "Mum was stolen away by a witch and turned into a tree and Daddy and I have been looking all these years for the magic amulet needed to break the spell. The witch lives right here in Byron, but Dad disguises himself as a tradesman in the inn, where he can hear all the latest gossip. He's sifting out clues."

"I see. Do you know what this amulet looks like?"

"It's a gold chain with a big green stone on it, and whenever someone who has no fear is nearby it glows and makes a humming sound."

"Wow," I said. "This is getting better all the time."

Buck nudged Bramble. "It's just like you said. She's jumped off the path." He turned about to face the fox. Bramble's ears were laid back, his tail limp, his chin trembling. Tears were running down his face. Buck put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a pat. "I'm so sorry."

"How will I ever tell Dad? What am I going to do?"

"I'll go with you."

"I'm not afraid for myself. You didn't know what he was like when Mum died. It'll kill him."

Buck thought a moment, then gave Bramble a pat on the back. "Tell him you think Star should have a talk with the vicar. Let him take a look at her. I'm sure Chios will know what to do."

He wiped his face. "Buck, you're a real friend. Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I promise." He spit in his paw and shook on it.

Suddenly Star looked about. "Hello? Is someone out there?" Her ears swiveled about and she sniffed the air. "Hello??"

Buck and Bramble held perfectly still. They were afraid even to breathe.

"This is _not funny_!" she shouted, agitated. "Come out! I know you're in there!"

Just then a cock wren flew from the bushes close by, and with a great fluttering whizzed close to where Star stood with Mountie.

"It's just a bird," I said with a nervous laugh. "Garn, he sure gave me a turn!"

"Well," she said, scratching behind an ear, "I suppose it was. I can't be too careful, you know. It mustn't leak back to Daddy. It would spoil everything."

***

That evening there was a knock at our door. Mum answered and saw Thorny standing on the porch, cap in hand.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I have a bit of important business."

"Mr. Beaverlee is in."

"I need to see _Master_ Beaverlee."

Dad went to the door. "Is my boy in trouble? I'll pay for it if he's damaged anything."

"No, Mr. B., it's nothing like that. But he might be able to help me."

Thorny took me aside to speak with me alone. I was understandably nervous, but he was friendly enough.

"You've been spending a bit of time with my little girl Starlight," he said, putting a paw on my shoulder. "That's all right. I'm glad of it because you're a fine lad, a very decent and hard working chap like your Dad. She needs someone like you. But she never tells me what really goes on. She never tells me _anything_."

"She made me promise not to tell."

Thorny gave my shoulder a pat. "Son, I think it's wonderful that you keep your promises. I really, really do. But I'm at my wit's end with her. I love her, and I have her best interests at heart. Tell me, son. What does she talk about? Is it a lot of nonsense? Is she going soft in the head? I love her and I need to know if she needs some kind of help. _Please, Mountie?_"

"She's not mad, sir. She's just as sane as you or I." At this point I knew what I had to do. From my writing desk I got several pieces of parchment covered with my messy script.

"Here, what's all this?"

"This is her story. It's an adventure story. Her mom is in it and you're in it too. She wanted it to be a surprise gift for you on your birthday."

"A story? For me?"

"Yes sir. She's quite good at telling stories."

He looked me intently in the eye. "Is there anything in it about me being a Baron?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh thank you Lord!" He looked away for a few moments, wringing his paws nervously and trembling. "Oh Mountie, you have _no _idea what I've been through these last few days!"

"Are you all right, sir?"

"My little girl is all right, and that's all that matters!" He ran his trembling paw over the mysterious dark marks on the parchment. "She wrote all that?"

"She told it to me. I just took it down in writing but it's all her doing."

"Imagine that…my girl's story." The fox looked so helpless. "I wish I could read it. Dad could read but he died before he could teach me."

"Bramble told me," I said. "But there's more kinds of learning than reading and writing. He says you're a very clever fellow in all the ways that count." Mum taught me to do that, to find something likeable about everyone I meet and make the best of it. Thorny's embarrassed smile let me know I hit the mark.

"Where's her name?"

"There it is. Starlight Foxworth." I skipped on down to the first paragraph. "This story is for Mum with all my love, but it's also for Dad because he has to be Mum and Dad to us now." I nodded. "She calls it _My Secret World_."

"Would you read it to me, Mountie?"

"When it's finished, sir. Soon. I've been helping her learn the alphabet and she can write her own name. She promised someday she'd read it to you herself. I'll help her keep that promise, Mr. Foxworth. She's a good friend and it's the least I can do."

The fox put his arms around me and gave me a hug. "You're a fine lad, Mountie. The Lord will do great things with you."

The memory of that wonderful moment still makes me smile.

Starlight is now a grandmother, and her letters from Byron on Wells, sprinkled with her remarkable wit, are a welcome taste of home.


	25. The Fishing Hole

TWENTY-FIVE

THE FISHING HOLE

Byron was a pleasant place to live and raise a family, though it was not perfect, as no place ever is. At the local pawnshop, Chumley Hare got some of his goods by shady means. Anything told to the vixen Violet Burroughs in "the strictest of confidence" would end up all over town. At times Nickaby Otter would have to fetch "The Persuader," a large wooden mallet, to break up an argument at the Moon and Hare Inn. But most pressing on us young folk was the scourge of the Kelty brothers, Rod and Lem. Those young otters were the terror of the riverbank furlings.

***

At his bait and tackle shop Bellweather Otter was haggling with their father Jack Kelty over the price of worms.

"Garn!" Mr. Kelty said. "For this price it would be cheaper to dig up my own!"

"No doubt, Jack. And piddling little blighters they'd be. I dig this soil every day and put my table scraps in it, keep it moist but not soaked to raise the best worms around, and for all this trouble I ask a mere six farthings a bag! But if you want to dig your own, I'll give you half price on a new spade."

"Here's your six farthings," Jack said gruffly, tossing the coins on the counter. "I still say it's highway robbery."

The irate otter was about to leave when he saw Bramblewood Foxworth and Buckthorn Badger coming in bearing a very large fish.

"Bellie," said Bramble, "look what I caught!"

Bellweather Otter clapped his paws. "See what you catch with my worms, Jack?"

"It's my new fishing hole, actually," Bramble said with a grin.

"And where would that be?"

"It's a secret."

Bellie nodded. "I don't blame you, lad. It's not quite record length but oh it's begging for it."

Mr. Kelty came close to examine the fish. "I believe I know you," the otter said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I can't think where, but the face is familiar."

"I'm Bramble from the Moon and Hare Inn, sir."

"Oh yes. Quite a fisher you're turning out to be."

"Thanks much, sir." Bramble and Buck quietly but quickly worked their way to the door and hurried off. Indeed, Jack Kelty _had_ seen Bramble twice before. Both times as he was carried out the back door of the Moon and Hare Inn after a run in with "The Persuader." Bramble was not over fond of his company, and he had good reasons not to be.

***

The next day, as Bramble headed to his secret fishing hole, he felt as if he were being followed. He tried to shrug it off, for Buck was not with him that day and he thought his imagination was getting the better of him.

He should have listened to his nagging doubts, for just as he made it to the bank of the Wells where a large rock jutted into the current; Rod and Lem Kelty stepped up behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Bramble said, more surprised than angry.

"Pop says you found us a new fishing hole," Rod said.

"Well your 'Pop' was wrong," Bramble said.

Lem Kelty stepped forward, grabbed Bramble's fishing pole away and snapped it like a toothpick. He had a young otter's robust strength, and he never used it for any savory purpose.

"Since you got no fishing pole, no need to fish, hmm?"

Rod added, "We have a fishing pole. We'll catch fish instead, and if you're really nice, we'll let you have a couple of minnows for yourself."

Bramble was in shock. "That pole was my Christmas present!"

Lem put his paws to his face in mock horror. "Oh Rod, what _have_ you done?? Now poor Bramblewood's going to go crying to his mommy!"

At the mention of his mother, Bramble started to tremble and tears welled up in his eyes. As you remember, Clara was lost beneath the ice when crossing the Wells on foot. Of course, the brothers did not know this and they thought him quite the coward.

"Be off, you crybaby," Lem smirked. "Don't come back or it won't be your fishing rod we'll break next time."

***

The rest of the day Bramble was quiet and withdrawn. His father was at a loss, for the furling had no fever and when asked what was wrong with his beef stew, Bramble just said, "Not hungry I guess."

That night as Bramble knelt for his prayers, he murmured, "Please help me. Lord help me. Show me the way."

His sister Starlight quietly crept over and knelt beside him, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Bramble, if you don't tell me what's wrong, you'll have nightmares."

"Thanks much, sis, but I can't."

"I already know you're in trouble. If you tell me what kind of trouble, I can pray too, and I will, for just as long as it takes."

His chin trembled and he gasped in a deep breath, letting it out in a choking sob. He put his arms around her and as he was able to speak, he told her what had happened earlier, and he told her what must happen tomorrow. It was dangerous to let Lem and Rod know you feared them. Once they started a campaign of terror against some hapless furling, it had to end in a fight, and he would rather meet it head on, on his own terms, than be caught in some dark shadowy trail and be beaten while screaming for mercy.

"At least they wouldn't dare kill you," she said. "They'd be murderers, and I don't think they'd go that far."

He sighed deeply. "If you want to comfort me, you'll have to do better than that."

She took his paws in hers. "Bramblewood Foxworth, you are a hero. You may have your bad habits…a lot of them…but you are a hero, and I am proud to be your sister."

He smiled faintly. "You did it, sis. I do feel better. Now one more thing…"

"You name it."

"Promise me you won't tell Buck, and you won't tell Dad. Not a word."

She looked down for a while, a rather long while. "I promise," she said at last.

***

The next day dawned gloriously, without a cloud in the sky, and just enough breeze to be pleasantly cool. Birds sang happily in the trees, blissfully unaware of the tragedy unfolding before the lone fox pup that trudged toward his fishing hole. His ears were slumped, his tail hung limply and his feet were made of lead. Above all, he felt alone; terribly, utterly alone.

Lem came out of the bushes. "I thought I told you to be off."

Bramble looked around, expecting his brother, but he was nowhere to be seen. "I guess Rod's not here to help you now."

"Oh yeah? Rod, come here! Fresh meat for the taking!"

Nothing.

"Rod, this isn't funny! Come here, lad!"

Bramble's eyes narrowed. "Well, it looks like it's just us." He was still afraid, but not paralyzed by fear. A bit of hope began to enter him that he might satisfy the demands of furling honor and live to tell about it.

"I don't need Rod," Lem spat. "I can take you apart with my bare paws! I told you I would if you came back here I'd give you some lumps. I told you to run home to your mommy, but it's too late… she can't help you now!"

That, in hindsight, was Lem's big mistake. It was bad enough that he broke the fishing rod Thorny had labored and sacrificed to buy, but he used Clara's name in vain…twice. It filled Bramblewood with a fierce flame of righteous indignation that knew no fear and gave no quarter. In a sense Clara was helping him, giving him fearsome strength and determination. He yelled like a night specter and ran at the larger otter with wild-eyed ferocity.

Lem swung at him…hard…and hit him time and again, yet the blows seemed to have no effect. Bramble swung back, striking Lem repeatedly, in moments closing one of his eyes, bloodying his nose, and leaving him a squirming mass of misery. When the surprised otter tried to cover his face, the fox lost all his refined manners and bit him like a wild creature, shaking his head and clawing him with all his might. He had the blood rage upon him.

"Hold!" Lem shrieked. "Hold! Stop! Stop! I yield!"

Bramble paused, panting, his eyes glowing red. He drew near to Lem till they were practically nose-to-nose. "You mention my sainted mother again and there'll be no holds barred. Understand?"

"Yes, Bramble. Anything you say, mate. Pax?"

"Pax."

Gracious in victory, Bramble stood, reached down for Lem's paw and helped him up, dusting him off. "If you want to fish here, ask me nicely and you may. That goes for Rod, too. Remember, it's our secret, so don't go spreading it all over town."

"It's a deal," Lem said, spitting in his paw. Bramble spit on his too and they shook on it.

***

When Bramble found Buck, he ran to the badger excitedly. "Buck, you'll never guess what happened!"

"I guess from the look on your face you've just beat Lem Kelty to within an inch of his life."

"That's right! How did you know I… And what happened to you??"

"Same thing that happened to Rod Kelty, only he got worse than I did. He forgot we badgers have loose skin on the back of our necks. Boy was he surprised when I nearly bit a hole out of his shoulder!"

"How did you know?"

"You made Star promise not to tell me or your daddy. You didn't make her promise not to tell Mountie."

"Garn! So he ran and told you, did he?

"He was going to take it on Lem, but I told him you needed to have it out with him and he understood. So he hid in the bushes in case I couldn't keep Rod busy enough."

"Well that little bucktoothed mookie! I wanted to leave you two out of it!"

"I know. But if Lem did not leave his brother out of it, why should you leave yours out of it?"

Bramble hugged Buck who said politely "Not there, please…ow, not there either… Let's shake paws, all right?"

***

Bellweather Otter showed up the next day at the Moon and Hare Inn bearing a brand new fishing pole. He presented it to Bramble who was reluctant to take it. "None of this was your fault," he said.

"Well, Bramble, think of it as an investment. You always buy my worms, and I'd hate to lose you as a customer."

It was a gallant gesture. The fishing pole had real metal fittings and was made of the finest Fallow Reed from Archenland. I suppose at six farthings a bag that Bramble's grandson might someday make it worth his while, but Bellie's true repayment was the look of joy on a fox pup's face.

***

Rod Kelty ran off at an early age to become a sailor and as far as I know he's still out there plying his trade, telling the lads he got that scar on his shoulder from pirates. One fine autumn evening, Molly Fletcher's father pulled Lem Kelty by the ear into my vicarage. There I heard the evidence against him and sentenced him to life in the institution of marriage. All of us Wellanites took a secret delight in seeing him bullied, bossed and occasionally battered by the real terror of the riverbank, Molly Fletcher Kelty.

Most importantly, on that day the wondrous deep bond between Bramble and Buck opened up a bit to made room for a little bucktoothed mookie. You are always in my heart.


	26. Taking the Lead

TWENTY-SIX

TAKING THE LEAD

It was one of those miserable clinging gray days in late Autumn when time crawled by on sore paws. Thorny was wiping down the bar when a fox named Toddy Granger came in. Toddy was Clara's brother in law, but he also regarded Thorny with deep fraternal affection.

"Tod!" Thorny shouted, coming straight over the bar and embracing him. "Well met! How's my laddie?"

"Fine, fine! And you?"

"I haven't found my fortune nor lost my shirt."

"That may be about to change." Tod put his paw on Thorny's shoulder. "The First Fox passed away last night."

"Reddy Talbot? Dead??" Thorny was taken aback. "How dreadful!"

"He was always strong, but lately he'd gone down the hill and he saw the shadow coming for him. He called a meeting of the executive committee to tell us his final wishes, and that's where you come in."

Thorny took off his cap and crushed it in his paws. "If he wanted his wake here, he shall have it. It's the least I can do, and a great honor."

"He offered you a much greater honor, Thorny. He wanted you to be the new First Fox."

"Me?" Thorny glanced down self consciously at his apron and well-worn cap. "He wanted _**me?**_"

"Yes, you. The committee voted to accept his nomination, and if you want the job, it's yours."

"I thought he never knew I existed."

"He knew _**everyone**_ existed, especially you. When Reddy got discouraged, he would think about all the things you suffered and how you rose above them all with dignity and courage. 'If _**Thorny**_ can do it,' he'd say, '_**I**_ can do it.' Well, how about it lad?"

Thorny shifted uncomfortably. "I know I own the Moon and Hare, but it was left to me. I'm not much for speechifying. I don't even know my letters."

"Reddy didn't know his either." Toddy scratched his cheek ruffs. "When you give out advice, it always makes sense. You're honest and fair and everyone likes you. Everyone but the Hedgelys, but who gives a flip what _**they**_ think!" Toddy chuckled. "Besides, it's time the Ancient Established Order of Loyal Foxes met here. They overcharge at the Dancing Dog. So what do you say?"

Thorny's ears flattened. "I'll need a moment to mull this over."

"Of course you do. Take all the time you need, and I'll come back tomorrow."

***

Thorny went to his office and looked into the brass mirror on the wall. In a faltering voice, he said, "Lord Mayor, distinguished council members, fellow citizens…" He stopped, embarrassed.

Embarrassed or not, unlearned or not, he had a burning reason why he wanted to accept. Bramblewood ran about with Buckthorn Badger and myself, both of us having fathers on the Town Council. As First Fox, he would be the voice of his people, a Counselor. He aspired to the level of the gentlefolk Bramble admired. His son was very proud of him anyhow, but a little extra insurance wouldn't hurt.

He looked back in the mirror and this time he pretended that Bramble and Star were in the crowd. He swept his glance about and saw Oakley Badger and my father Horace Beaverlee. He could tell they were pulling for him, and he stood erect. In a more confident tone, he proclaimed, "Lord Mayor, distinguished council members, fellow citizens…I accept with humility the great trust which you have placed in me and will endeavor not to…uh…muddle things unduly." He remembered Tod's advice and resolved to ditch the violets. "What we really need is to fill the ruts in Canal Street," he said, and his reflection mouthed the words back to him with iron-clad sincerity. Maybe he _**could**_ be Thornton Foxworth, MC, First Citizen of the Ancient Established Order of Loyal Foxes!

His thoughts went back to the scathing refusal he got from the Hedgleys when he asked for their daughter Clara in marriage. To them he was a nobody, and for swaying their talented daughter's affections a _**less**_ than nobody. Indeed after their hate filled diatribe he thought that the course of true love had stopped until late that night when Clara showed up in tears outside the Moon and Hare Inn. He would never forget opening the door and seeing her standing on the front porch, clutching a few belongings, disowned but so in love. The Hedgelys thought he would never amount to anything, but he finally showed them. Problem is, without Clara by his side it was a hollow victory.

Mum and Dad never lived to see him become an MC, but to them he was already a success because he loved Aslan and honored his promises. And then there were his adopted parents Nickaby and Elsie Otter. They believed in him and brought him into their heart and home. The Moon and Hare was his sanctuary in their lifetime, and his estate after their death.

Their death—so many deaths—ah, that was the rub. He was First Fox, yet he stood on the pinnacle of his greatest victory nearly alone. "I'm not ungrateful, Aslan," he muttered. "Still it would have been nice for them to know." At least Bramble and Star would be glad for him, his love for Clara made visible. A part of her would be by his side as the medallion was presented to him. Through them she would find her vindication.

***

At Cutshaw House, the family was looking about in awe. The estate was like a different world from the rest of Byron. "And you're the First Fox as well as Council member?" Bramble asked.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"Aren't you sure?"

"Everyone else is." Thorny looked off thoughtfully at a bronze statue of an otter soldier with the medallion of the Black Diamonds upon his proud chest, the stoic embodiment of patriotism and courage. Thorny wasn't sure, but he thought it might be Edward Cutshaw, Wilbur's slain brother. Edward set a high standard, and Thorny was sure others would hold him to that same high standard. "What if I fall flat on my face?" he muttered. "Everyone will know. I'll be the laughing stock of the whole town…"

Star took his paw in hers and gave it a little squeeze. "Daddy, you're going to be just fine. This is no different from running the Inn. You just have to keep your head about you and work hard."

"You think I can do it?"

"I know you can." She smiled. "You can do anything."

Thorny looked down into her innocent hazel eyes, so like her mother's. "Princess, you always know what to say."

***

As weather permitted, the Town Council met under the Great Oak at Cutshaw Hall. Since it was a beautiful day for late October, Thorny joined the other council members beneath its canopy.

Bramble looked at its sturdy, low branches and imagined climbing up, up into the sky with a minimum of effort. He stood there nose to the sky with that unmistakable look of longing on his face when Heslett, the stern faced otter in charge of the Cutshaw household, came up beside him. "Young Master, don't even _**think**_ about it. Even Miss Nellie never climbed the Great Oak."

"Yes sir."

Heslett laid his paw on Bramble's shoulder gently but firmly. It was clear that the grip would tighten if the fox did not follow him to the formal garden where the other furlings gathered to play. There they were surrounded by beautiful flowers, and under the stern advisement to look but not touch.

When I spotted the fox he looked rather dejected and solitary so I introduced him around. Since each of the clans and clades had representatives, it was a very diverse group. He met the Nutley twins who were as flighty as any squirrel before or since. The large bear Orson was friendly enough but stepped on Bramble's foot and failed to make a good first impression. I was most worried when the fox pup tapped a talking mouse on the shoulder and asked who his father was.

"My five furlings' grandpa," the irate mouse huffed. "You don't think the wee laddies carry one of these, do you?" He drew his sword, and though it was too small to even be a toy for Bramble, it was sharp and looked dangerous in the mouse's paw.

Bramble stared at the blade wide-eyed. "I should say not…" He had never talked with a mouse soldier before, but their reputation preceded him. "That sword is curved," Bramble said, taking a step back. "My daddy has a sword but it's straight. Did yours get bent?"

"It's a saber, lad. Straight swords are for thrusting and stabbing…" The mouse ran through a phantom opponent. "Sabres hack and slash. Take off a head with one blow! Yaarr!" The blade sung as it sliced the air.

Bramble cringed, ears laid back. "Thanks much," he muttered through gritted teeth, glancing away.

"I forget you're a fallow youth," the mouse said, sheathing his blade. "You've never had just a bit of steel between you and an angry Calormen markaan."

"Have you?"

"Not yet. But when I do, I'll be ready for him."

"Oh absolutely, " I said, taking Bramble by the paw. "If you'll pardon us, we are looking for our friend Buckthorn…" Bramble and I politely but quickly slipped away. "He's a solid chap," I said, "as long as you don't make him angry. That's why they're called 'talking mice', because you let them do all the talking."

***

Things looked up when we found Buckthorn Badger sitting on one of the marble benches playing "button button". For those of you who have never been a furling on the riverbank, it means he had a large button threaded through both holes on a loop of twine. He looped the twine about his paws with the button suspended between, wound the button a few turns, then by pulling his paws apart and together made the button spin at dizzying speed with a satisfying hum.

"Where did you get it?" Bramble asked.

"I got it from Barnaby."

"Barnaby?" the foxes' face tilted a bit. "Some new friend of yours?"

"Oh no, I've known him for a while now."

"Do you think he'd want to join our club?"

"I doubt it," Buck said.

"Well, he can stay _**your**_ friend." Bramble watched fascinated for a while, then asked Buck to let him have a go. The fox proved to be quite good at it and mastered it on the first try. For a few moments it made him content to loiter about the garden, but there was only so long he could spin a button before the novelty wore off.

"I wish we could to the tree house," Buck lamented.

"I want to see Daddy speak," Bramble sighed.

"You can't," I said. "These meetings are members only and held in strictest secrecy. Which is why it takes over an hour for Mum to find out all the details from Dad."

"The tree house is members only, but we're members." Bramble added in a low voice, "It's not that far from here. Is there another way out of this garden?"

"Shh!" I cautioned. "They'll hear you…" I drew Buck and Bramble close. "Nellie Otter is in charge of us. Your best bet is to ask her permission."

"You mean she's our baby sitter?" Bramble boomed out irately, not caring who heard him. "We're too old for that sort of rot!" With that he stormed off to find Nellie.

***

If there was anyone that could take the keen edge off Bramble's resolve, it was Nellie. She saw the fox pup coming and brightened. "Bramblewood!" she said, gesturing for him to come closer. "Isn't this wonderful? With your daddy on the council, we'll get to see more of each other!"

"Yes ma'am."

She smiled. "Yes ma'am? Just call me Nellie, dear."

"Thank you. Nellie. And you may call me Bramble. All my friends do."

"And I am your friend…Bramble…just as I was your dear mother's friend. She and I were very close."

"You and my mum? I don't think I ever saw you at the Moon and Hare."

"It was long before you came along. Clara would come when her folks were seeing Daddy on business. She was a good friend and I would see her from time to time until…well…she fell in love with your father. If your Daddy told you anything about the Hedgelys…"

"Oh yes. I've seen them with my own eyes. I like Holly and I loved my mum, but the rest of them were a rum lot, and not just 'cause Daddy says so."

Nellie laughed prettily. "Isn't it the truth? They were a stern and cold sort—and they still are. They thought furlings were meant to be seen and not heard, so Clara and I ran about together. Anyhow she loved music and she would play the harp and sing. I would join her on the lute and we would play all sorts of things."

Bramble asked, "What sort of things?"

"There was one piece that was our favorite. I can't sing as well as your sainted Mum, but would you like to hear it?"

That was a foregone conclusion. The fox pup even fetched her instrument, settling at her feet as she tuned the strings and cleared her throat.

_Willow tree, where is my true love?  
Beyond the rain, beyond the sunset!  
White sails upon the verdant sea  
Bring back my true love unto me  
In tender jasmine scented dreams…_

At the melody, Bramble's eyes began to puddle and his chin trembled.

"What's wrong?" Nellie said, putting down the lute.

"She's not coming back," he sobbed. "Mama's _**never**_ coming back…"

"Poor, dear Bramble! I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"I'm not crying," he said, trying to wipe his eyes with a paw.

"Why not? I am." She bundled him into her lap and put her arms about him. Truly, her eyes were swimming with tears. "Clara used to sing that to you, didn't she?"

"Oh yes," the fox stammered. "All the time." As the otter rocked him gently, he sighed, "I don't care what you think. You have a pretty voice, just like my Mum."

"You little charmer you! Maybe I can sing you something? Something different, perhaps?"

"Oh no, I want to hear that one. I want to hear Mama's song."

The lute stayed on the bench and Nellie serenaded him in soft unaccompanied phrases the way Clara used to do. For a brief time her arms were Mum's arms and he could imagine the clink of Elsie Otter putting away dishes in the cupboard while Nickaby was stoking the large oven. Those innocent halcyon days of being dirt poor in things and yet rich enough in love not to notice! He thought they would last forever, but forever can be brief. Like Thorny, he had his shadowy corners where lost love echoed. Usually he kept those carefully hidden, but in that moment it was good to drink the bittersweet wine of fond memories.

When he had finally regained his composure, she stroked his face with a paw. "So Bramble, was there something I could do for you?"

He thought back on it. The yearning for freedom seemed like a distant dream. "Well, actually, Buckthorn Badger and I go in the woods and play brigands and climb up in the tree house. Mountie too, though he's not very good at it. Well I was…we were…wondering if it would be all right…"

"Oh, you want to go play while I take care of the little folk?" She seemed to consider the question for a bit. "I don't see why not. But Bramble, I have all these furlings to watch all by myself. I was hoping to find someone older and wiser like you that could serve as Chief Assistant."

"Chief Assistant Bramblewood Foxworth!" That had an impressive ring to it. Suddenly playing brigands, or even climbing the Great Oak, faded by comparison. My my, he had become son of the First Fox and Chief Assistant to Nellie Otter all in one day! "I'll do a good job. You'll see." He reached up and kissed her cheek.

***

Even faster than with "button button", the novelty of being Chief Assistant wore off. Nellie brought the hesitant Bramblewood over to a pair of hedgehogs. "These fellows are Archer and Fletcher. This is Bramblewood but you may call him Bramble."

The fox shyly waved at the older of the two. "Hello Fletcher."

"I'm Archer. He's Fletcher."

Fletcher squealed, "Foxie!"

"Yes, he's a fox," Archer said. "He's going to take care of us."

Fletcher reached up and smiled.

"He likes me," Bramble said.

"He wants a hug," Archer replied.

"A hedgehog? I mean…hug a hedgehog?"

"Why not?" Archer laughed. "We get hugs all the time. Just go from the top and back. It only hurts if you go against the grain."

Hesitantly Bramble gave the little one a hug and Fletcher grunted with approval, looking very satisfied and not showing the least sign of ever letting go. After an uncomfortably long time, Bramble looked about for his badger friend. "Buck? Buckthorn Badger??"

Buck did not seem to hear him, and if Bramble didn't know any better, he'd have thought his friend had fled to the opposite end of the garden and was trying to look busy while doing nothing of substance.

***

When Thorny returned for Bramble and Star, he looked absolutely elated. "Well my dears, let's be off!"

"What did you do?" Star asked.

"Something big and important, Princess. I survived my first day on the job." He chuckled. "That, and I got them to fill the potholes on Canal Street. Oh it was awkward at first. They were voting on a deferred amendment—that's a change you put off from last time—and because it was my first time, everyone had to wait for the vicar to read me the whole thing. But they were patient and I voted what I thought was right, and now I'm ready for dinner."

"I got to be Chief Assistant," Bramblewood said, beaming. "Nellie said I was the best chap for the job."

"Chief Assistant?" Thorny put his paw around Bramble's shoulder and gave him a little squeeze. "Garn, we ought to charge folk to come down to the Inn and take a squint at us!"

Star glanced up with an amused smile. "Daddy, can I still look for free?"

Thorny met her gaze. He tried to think of something clever yet sweet to say, but all he did was flash her an adoring smile.

As Bramble passed me, he asked if I knew Barnaby and I said I did.

"I wonder if he has another button?"

"Let's ask him."

***

I led Bramble to Heslett who was looking down at a trampled lily and shaking his head. Someone had ignored his strict orders to look but not touch.

"I don't think we'd better ask him where Barnaby is," the fox said, "He looks upset."

"It's alright. He won't mind." I went up to the otter and asked, "Barnaby, do you have a button for my friend Bramblewood?"

The otter looked around. His features were soft and his eyes were kindly. "For a friend of yours, I sure do." With that he handed the fox pup a large wooden button and some string. Bramble learned that Barnaby Heslett had a kind heart behind that stern exterior, and he always brought a few trinkets for the furlings that needed them. Later as keeper of the Moon and Hare Inn, Bramble would remember never to judge a book by its cover, and it worked well for him time and time again.

***

The next morning Buck showed up at the Inn with fishing tackle. "Bramble? Are you ready?"

The fox edged into the room with his pole, but he looked the badger up and down with a bit of a scowl. "You're lucky I'm still speaking to you. After that bit on the hedgehogs..."

"What bit with the hedgehogs?"

"Playing dumb are we? It was bad enough hugging Fletcher, but he wanted a pony ride too. And when I finally got him off me, all the other furlings saw it and wanted their turn. Buck, the worst two words I know are 'Giddy yap!' It means 'Kick the fox in the ribs'."

"It also means 'Kick the badger'." Buck looked down. "Don't be angry. I was Chief Assistant myself. Once was enough."

"More than enough." Bramble said with a hint of a smile. "I'd say it's Mountie's turn next time. We wouldn't want to hoard all the fun, would we?"

"Certainly not!" Buck said with a chuckle.

"I was afraid I'd get stuck with the job for good."

"When you got stuck with that job," Buck said with a mischievous grin, "you really get _**stuck**_."

Bramble laughed. "I didn't mind Fletcher hopping up to give me a kiss, but oh on the way back down…owie-wowie!" He cringed at the thought and his tail bristled out like a bottle brush. "That chap's a menace to society!"

They opened the door to leave, and there on the front steps was someone with his paw up about to rap. "I say! That's what I call service!"

"Mr. Hedgehog?"

"Right as rain!" He motioned for his twin sons. "There's your little friend! Say hullo to Bramblewood!"

Fletcher ran over, arms raised and grabbed him about the waist. Bramble looked around in a panic and saw the badger pushing past him toward freedom. "Buckthorn Badger! Come back here!"

The badger waved with a paw. "Well, you're busy so I'll be going. I'll bring you back a nice fish." And with that he was off in a wink.


	27. To Kindle a Spark

TWENTY-SEVEN

TO KINDLE A SPARK

Jack Frost had come, that jolly old faun red-cheeked with cold whose brush was of ice and whose canvas was the winter wood. He'd cloaked the barren boughs with pristine stoles of white and decorated frosty windowpanes with silver tracery. As days grew short and the leaves went into hiding, life along the riverbank slowed down accordingly.

Though townsfolk stayed indoors as much as possible, certain jobs went on through rain, snow and darkness. The folk that did them were regarded with a nod of sympathy or a shake of the head. As an innkeeper's daughter, Starlight Foxworth understood and was always sympathetic.

The young vixen kept a rapt vigil at the window, waiting patiently for her evening rendezvous. Then as the crimson sky was tinged with a purple hue, he came like a small bright star with a long dark shadow. It was the leery, a dog fox named Rusty that lit the lamps along Canal Street.

Up went the window. "Hullo Mr. Beckersham! Any news tonight?"

"Not much I fear, Princess," he said flatly, scarcely looking up.

She looked about at her brother Bramblewood. "At least he called me Princess…"

"You don't want to know what _**I**_ call you," Bramble muttered. He added sharply, "Close the window before I catch my death!"

Mr. Beckersham had already gone by without even wishing her good night, and she sighed deeply. "There's something wrong."

"I'll say it is. You freeze me to the core every night just to hear the latest gossip."

"No, it's more than that. The poor fellow!"

Bramble saw she was absolutely serious and his ears pricked. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. He used to talk about his family all the time, and now he never mentions them. It's like he's trying to avoid something unpleasant. He doesn't say much anymore and he hardly looks me in the eye." Star looked down. "He used to hum all the time, too."

"You're worried because he doesn't hum?"

Star sat on the bed and eyed her brother. "Daddy used to sing, remember? Then mum died. It's like the music died with her. He has that same look, like he's not asleep but he's not really awake."

The memory of that time chilled him worse than the weather. "So you think the Missus died?"

"No. But it's something awful. I wish I knew what. Oh, if there was some way to find out…"

"You mean spy on him?"

"I wouldn't call it that." She looked out the window at the rising moon and sighed again. "I wish I could just run out and give him a hug, the poor fellow." Her ears drooped and she looked about to cry.

"Alright," Bramble said. "If it will get me some sleep, Buck and I will spy on him tomorrow. And I won't call it that, if it bothers you."

Star looked around. "Do you really mean it?"

He looked at her worried features. Despite his annoyed tone, he loved his sister and hated to see her upset. "Of course I do. Try to get some sleep, Sis."

***

Buck trudged along behind Bramble in the gathering darkness. "You _**would**_ have to follow someone who worked the night shift, wouldn't you?"

"Hssh, keep your voice down." The fox pup took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's no game for me either. Dinner is on the table. I heard we were having simmer and sing stew."

"Simmer and sing," Buck said with a deep sigh. "Now I'm tired _**and**_ hungry."

"At least you're not as tired and hungry as you're _**going**_ to be."

Buck was not amused by Bramble's withering attempt at humor. "Why didn't you invite Mountie along?"

"Because he's not good at stalking," Bramble said. "I need someone who's light on their feet."

"Oh," the badger said, not about to argue with that. (Looking back on it, neither would I.) Still he cringed when a sudden winter wind came howling down the open avenue and swept over him like an icy river. "Oh my, I can't feel my nose anymore."

"Me too."

As they trekked down street after street, Bramble got a renewed respect for Rusty Beckersham who came out every night in all sorts of conditions. The quiet, withdrawn and morose creature they followed was a shrunken shadow of the bloke that used to entertain his sister with gossip and witty banter. He found himself feeling sorry for the careworn leery.

The wind picked up again and a cloud threatened to swallow the crescent moon. Buck huddled for a moment in a doorway. "Bramble?" he said, teeth chattering, "I have to break off. I'll be late for supper."

The fox frowned. "Don't you think of other things besides your stomach?"

Buck looked a bit hurt. "Of course. But mum gets upset. You know the talk mums all give you…'slaving away over a hot stove for a tardy little urchin with bad manners?'"

Bramble nodded. "I've heard worse. Deserved it too. Well I suppose you'd best be off."

"You're not coming with me?"

"No, I don't feel like eating till I get to the bottom of this."

***

By the time Mr. Beckersham reached the end of Jury Street he looked slumped and fatigued. Bramble wanted to console him, but of course that would never do. If Rusty's job was to light the lamps, Bramble's was to see and not be seen.

The leery finally arrived home. He stumbled in tired and dispirited and slammed the door behind him. Bramble made note of the address in case he ever had to find it again, then crept closer and tried to peep in the windows.

He could see nothing except Rusty's silhouette pacing back and forth against the tightly drawn curtains. Bramble put his ear against the door but all he heard was Rusty saying, "I'm afraid to even ask" and a vixen's voice saying, "Not a word, love. Not a blessed word from her."

***

Of course the fox kit wasn't going to learn anything more peeping through the curtains, so Bramble gathered his faltering courage and went over to the neighbor's house.

He made a couple of timid knocks at the door, and almost instantly felt like the biggest fool on the riverbank. He turned and started to leave.

Just then he heard the door open and a pool of light surrounded him. "Can I help you, young fox?"

He turned about and saw the kindly gaze of an elderly hare. "Oh yes ma'am." He timidly drew closer, cap in his paws. "I came here to visit Uncle Rusty but I heard him shout something through the door and I'm afraid to go in. He's been in such a bad mood lately."

"You poor little furling! Come on inside and set yourself by the fire."

"Thanks much. And if it wouldn't be too much trouble, might I have a dipper of water?" His stomach rumbled pitifully, mourning the lost simmer and sing stew.

"Have you eaten?"

Bramble admitted he had not. He was shown to a comfortable chair by the hearth and was brought a barley loaf and some cider. In his hunger and fatigue it looked like a banquet. He thanked her very politely, then tucked in with abandon.

The doe smiled. "It does me good to hear the patter of little feet about the house. It's been quiet around here since my Thomas died and the kits have gone."

Bramble looked up sympathetically. "It's a real shame," he said with a mouthful of bread. "I mean, crabby old Heather Hedgely lives in that big house with family and friends and you're stuck out here in the boonies alone." He thought over what he said and quickly added, "I meant nothing wrong, ma'am. It's just not fair."

"I understand. And thank you." She mussed him between the ears with a paw. "Maybe you'll come visit me again, hmm?"

"If I'm ever out this way." He settled back in the chair, took a long draw on the mug of cider and said, "Isn't it a shame about Uncle Rusty? I wish I knew why he was going on like this. It's been weeks since I saw him smile."

"Well it's that daughter of his. She ran off with some young buck from the bad side of town. Well you know Rusty—he's very proud. He acts as if she had died. And the missus keeps hoping he'll relent and try to make peace."

"Oh, so _**that**_ was it."

"Now I am not one to be prying in others affairs" the doe said with a bit of a knowing look at Bramble, "but I for one would not be so intractable about my daughter's beau without taking the time to know him better." Bramble did not know what intractable meant, but he had a pretty good idea it was not a good thing to be. "And speaking of prying in others' affairs, I happen to know Rusty's brother Copper is serving in the Navy. Unless you walked here from Cair Paravel, you're trying to trick me."

The fox pup met her eyes directly. "Maybe he's not _**really**_ my Uncle, but I _**did**_ walk here all the way from Canal Street and I _**am**_ worried about him. And my sister, she watches for him out the window and cries. It's awful watching someone fall to pieces in front of you. Please ma'am, if there's anything you can tell me that might help him, I'll do my very best."

The hare smiled and patted his shoulder. "I think I like your sister. I know I like you." She got her muffler and tossed it about her neck. "It's late and your folks are worried sick. I'll take you as far as Bantam Circle. This is no place for a strange furling after dark…or before dark."

***

The hare stayed with Bramble all the way to the Inn and made a plea with Thorny not to be too harsh with the lad. After the edge was off Thorny's anger she left Bramble with his fuming father to hear a long and animated lecture on personal safety. At least there would be no cuffing…this time.

After the chastened fox pup had endured a bit of "educating", he forlornly trudged upstairs where he reported everything he learned to the eager Star.

Her chin trembled and tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh Bramble, isn't it awful! Somebody really ought to do something!" Which of course meant that Bramble ought to do something.

The fox pup was getting deeper and deeper into this muddle. He saw it as a monkey run leading him toward the thrashing of his life, but he couldn't look his pleading sister in the face and say anything less than, "I'll do what I can. I promise."

"Oh Bramble, you're wonderful! You're the best!"

He looked away with a sheepish grin. "Garn, no need to get all sticky."

***

The next morning, Bramble headed into Amber Lane, a place most riverbankers avoided, and with good cause. It made "Uncle Rusty's" neighborhood look like a public park.

Loki Sharptooth and his gang often frequented its seedy pub "The Barnacle Bill" and lingered for mischief in its shadowy alleyways. It was prime territory for the questionable business dealings of Chumley Hare and many of his hot sales followed on the heels of hushed whispers with a nervous fence. The fox pup considered his promise made to Star under emotional duress and wondered what he got himself into.

Though the wind was bitter and the company a bit daunting, the daylight put a friendlier face on things. So it wasn't threats to his person that made him tremble a bit when Bramble reached for the knocker of 127 Amber Lane, the humble abode of Anne Beckersham Sharpe.

The door was answered by a young vixen who glanced down at the two strange furlings and seemed a bit perplexed. "And what are you wanting?"

Bramble doffed his cap. "Can I…I mean _**may**_ I come in for a bit?"

"I'm busy in the kitchen, but I can spare a moment if it's needful."

"It's about your daddy."

Her ears pricked. "Do you know my father?"

"Yes…well, my sister Star does, actually. She has a bit of a crush on him, if you ask me. Anyhow she's noticed a change in him these past few weeks. Every night she watches for him at the window. You know, once she was sick and couldn't come to the window and your daddy knocked on the door to ask about her. Next time he came by he left her some treats."

"Oh my…" She raised a paw to her face. "Your sister is that little vixen in the Moon and Hare?"

"So you've heard about us?" A bit of hope crept into Bramble's soul. "Please Miss Beckersham…."

"Mrs. Sharpe now. But call me Annie."

"Please Annie, your daddy is worried sick! Just last night I saw him pacing around in his living room asking your Mum if she's heard anything from you."

"You were in his house?"

"Well, sort of. I looked in the windows. Anyhow, it's a shame if you ask me."

"It _**is**_ a shame, but you've only heard one side of the story." She shifted uncomfortably. "Henry is a good fellow and he's done right by me. We love each other and we're married all right and proper. Father must learn that I have a life of my own. He tried to break us up, and when that didn't work he refused to come to our wedding. If he'll come out to the house to see Henry and I as husband and wife, everything will be well and good. But he'll never do that. He's stubborn as the Cairn of Kolee."

"Yes ma'am. It seems to run in the family."

"I beg your pardon??"

Bramble looked down nervously. "I lost my mum when I was little. I'd do _**anything**_ to see her again, but I can't. You could see your mum and dad any time you wanted to badly enough." His tail began to twitch nervously. "He doesn't seem like the mean sort to me."

"No, there's not a mean bone in his body. I loved him—I still do—but I also love Henry and he needs to respect that. I can't be first to give in. I just can't! When you get to be my age you'll understand."

"With all due respect, Ma'am, I hope not."

She scowled. "You're awfully cheeky for someone messing about in other folks' business."

"It's not other folks' business when it makes my sister cry. I promised her I'd do what I could, and I kept my promise." He tipped his cap. "Cheery bye."

***

A couple of days passed and there was no notable change in Mr. Beckersham. Indeed, it seemed that all Bramble's flirtations with disaster were for naught. Well, almost for naught. While Bramble and Star had always loved each other, she would greet his awkward attempts to console her with open admiration and warmth. For his part, Bramble kept reminding her that he planted a seed which, like the other seeds under the snow, would grow when conditions were right.

Then on the third day Mr. Beckersham came to light the lamp, humming softly to himself.

Starlight could tell by the very way he strode down the street that change was in the wind. Her heart was in her mouth.

She called down, "Any news for me?"

Rusty looked up, his eyes shining like the wick he used to light the lamps. "Oh yes! Princess, I'm going to be a grandfather!"

"A grandfather? At your age? What wonderful news! I'm so glad for you!"

"So I've heard," he said, winking and blowing her a kiss. "Now there's a good girl!"

"Did you see that?" she said, nudging Bramble. "Imagine that, he's going to be a grandpa!"

"Well," Bramble said casually, "that happens to one by and by."

"I really like him," Star said, closing the window with a dreamy expression on her face.

"I can tell."

"But I really love you," she added with a coy smile.

All was as it should be. It was unclear whether Bramble's efforts paid off or if Father Time used his healing touch. Perhaps it was a little of both. In any case, Bramblewood could hardly conceal his delight as he climbed into bed and drifted off into a satisfying sleep with a smile still resting pleasantly on his face.


	28. The Prize

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE PRIZE

"High Hopes," my freshly built canoe, rested keel-up on a pair of sawhorses. Dad slowly travelled the length of it looking long and hard at the seams. I had built it to race in the Beaveree tomorrow and in my rush to completion I had missed a couple of stitches on the starboard side. Dad spotted it and shook his head.

"Careful with the stitching, son. _'The slowest in the brace is the fastest in the race'_."

"Dad, it's not that important, and it would take me hours to fix that."

"It would take me years to grieve for you." He put a paw on my shoulder and gave me a little pat. "Remember, _'Anything worth doing is worth doing right'_. Maybe it's not important now, but it would lead to bigger things in the future, and that's the rub."

I looked at Dad, about to make my rebuttal. But I felt a great sense of shame. He had absolute faith in the advice he gave or he would never give it. I cast my glance at the ground. "Maybe it's _not_ worth doing," I said at last. "I could never beat Carson Beecher. I've seen him take a canoe down the Little Wolf without blinking an eye."

"You did that too."

"Yes, but I portaged around Sander's Gate like I had good sense. He went right through it, over the falls and out of the blue hole!"

"He took a canoe over _The Tooth_? That's more foolishness than skill." Dad lifted my chin to look me in the eyes, smiling indulgently. "Carson's good with a boat, but only because he's half Beaverlee."

"Really? I thought we were the only ones."

Father chuckled. "There are lots of other Beaverlees in Byron, but all of them are does. You're the only buck left to carry on the family name. If you don't race, we won't even make the roll call."

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll do you proud."

"You did me proud the day you were born," Dad said. "I couldn't help you with the canoe, but I can give you a real advantage."

He led me to the back of the shop where a paddle hung on the wall. It was painted orange, oddly shaped, and I had been told for as long as I could remember it was _not_ a plaything.

Dad pointed at it with reverence. "It may not look like much, but my father carried this to victory before I was even born. Years later it was in my paws when I won first place in the middling canoe race. It is a racing paddle, all wrong for flat-water day trips up the Wells but perfect for that burst of power you need to race. Most importantly, the spirit of those victories lives on in it. Now it's yours. Bear it well my son and I promise you that you will win."

"Dad, how can you promise that?"

"Being a winner doesn't mean beating Carson. It means mastering your own inner strength. Do that and the spirit of victory will live on, both in this paddle and in you."

I carefully took it out of the hooks and turned it about in my eager paws. It had great balance, but more importantly it radiated a glow of tradition and honor that shamed me for my lack of enthusiasm. I felt his paw rest on my shoulder and I leaned my face against his strength, drawing on it and loving him the way I wish I could love him right now.

With pride warming my soul, I went back to the boat and redid out the whole starboard seam. When it was as perfect as I could make it, I did rename it, calling it the 'Norwood Beaverlee', proudly painting Grandpa's name on the bow. It was no longer just a contest between Carson and me, it was a family affair.

***

Morning was hectic. Dad rushed through breakfast as Mum brushed off his navy blue wool vest with the gold plated buttons, the one he last wore at the regatta. She also got his red sash of office and the Great Mace.

After he finished choking down what passed as a full meal, he went to take up his costume with the eagerness of a furling on Christmas morning. Carefully Dad slipped on the jacket, and though it was hot and confining to wear, it looked splendid on him. He took the Great Mace in his paws and asked, "Well, Crystal, how do I look?"

Sometimes I think back on him standing there in his ceremonial regalia and a lump rises in my throat. Mum was also deeply moved, putting her arms around his neck to give him a kiss. "You look wonderful, Horace." To her, Dad was _always_ the Grand Mace, and she was proud that for one day the riverbankers would see him the way she always saw him, wise, handsome and important. And he was all of those things, as are most folks in their own special way.

***

What once started as a race to settle a bet between the Beavers of Silver Creek and Buford Creek had turned over the years into a grand celebration of river life. The Beaveree would have axe competitions and saw-offs, long swims and tugs of war. The Aspinalls, Beaverlees and Barkbys of Silver Creek would do their all to overtake the Beechers and Buckwoods of Buford. From among these five feuding families would come a champion adult, middling and furling. It was my father's hope that I would win the middling canoe race. Problem is I had the head for it but not the heart for it. Not to the degree that makes a winner. My heart was divided.

When I was born, my father had a vision of the future—my future—that included being the master of Beaverlee Lodge, keeping the reservoir up to standards, settling down with a good wife and bringing up the next generation. A shadow fell over this vision as I watched Buck and Bramble scale the bell tower on Remembrance Day. As the bells began to swing from the purity of their simple, intense love of Aslan and of each other, my heart was strangely moved. That feeling was given direction and outlet as I began learning to read and write. Through Vicar Chios I found that helping others could bring back echoes of that long ago ecstasy.

I too had a vision of my future, and it was quite different from my father's. Many times in the darkness of my room I would clasp my paws, bow my head and in hushed but anxious tones ask, "Lord, Lord, what have you done to me?" Sometimes when the tears would flow I would feel his presence comforting me. "Patience, son," he would seem to say in a small, still voice. I never knew for sure if it was his voice or my own, but it gave me the strength to go on and the peace to find sleep.

Yet if love alone could win the race, I loved Dad enough to take his paddle to victory. No matter what the future held, I would find a way to reward his great and selfless love for me that one time. I had to win.

***

Mother was busy at the stove, embellishing this day as she did many others with her special blend of skill and affection. "Something sure smells good!" I said, looking over the delights that were already cooling on racks. There were ginger biscuits, joyful cakes and real Calormen cane sugar cracklers. Still I couldn't help noticing that she was making a large kettle of dandy breads. While they had never been my favorite dessert, I remembered that dandy breads were Bramblewood Foxworth's favorite treat.

"Mum, before you stock up too heavy on dandy breads, I don't think Bramble is coming. And Buck is probably…"

"Don't worry, they'll be here. Buck and Bramble said they wouldn't miss it for the world."

"They did?" I said while trying to conceal my sudden panic. "You invited them?"

"But of course, dear. They are your friends."

"I know. But I didn't think they would enjoy this type of thing."

She looked about with a slightly reproving expression. "If you thought you could beat Carson Beecher, you wouldn't care if they enjoyed it or not."

"Well, I…"

"Tell the truth, son."

I lost my composure. I'm not sure, but I think I got teary eyed. "It's bad enough to disappoint Dad. And I will—I just know it. Do I have to make a fool out of myself in front of Buck and Bramble too? My best friends?"

She rested a paw atop my head and gave me a little pat. "Someday you'll learn that true friends don't care if you win or lose, just how you play the game. Buck and Bramble are fine folks. If you do your best, they won't think less of you. And that's especially true of your Dad and I." Though I knew she was right, it was scant comfort to me.

Mother wasn't the only one shamelessly promoting my skill with a paddle. Rainbow Aspinall was telling everyone that would listen—and some who wouldn't—that I would win the race by at least a length. "Bobo," as I called her, had a competition of her own, challenging my mother for title of Mountie's favorite fan. I could never live up to their expectations.

***

Buck and Bramble showed up bright and early, anxious to see my great victory and to sample Mum's cooking. At least they would eat and the treats were rather good. Then I noticed to my growing horror that Star and Thorny came with Bramble, and Oakley and Jasmine Badger showed up with Buck to see what all the fuss was about. There in a meadow full of brown beavers stood this odd little fan club of red, black and white. Not that anyone was upset…indeed the Beaveree was a point of community pride and we beavers wanted it to have wider exposure. Still, if I didn't win everyone in my whole world will know. And standing by my motley crew of supporters was Rainbow Aspinall singing my praises to high heavens. Looking back on it now, I feel very proud. At the time, I was a bundle of nerves.

Dad rushed about in the furling area, his first big challenge of the day. Everyone knew it was best to start with the youngest folk because they were the most restless. Once they burned off extra energy they would be easier to handle.

During the furling tail slap and duffleball competitions, I took Buck and Bramble to see the Norwood Beaverlee. They were used to our club coracle, which was a good thing for fishing but terrible for long jaunts. Next to it, the canoe looked fast, dangerous and exciting. In short, it was all I could do to keep Bramble from "testing it out" before the race. Buck was thoughtful enough to make me promise to give him a ride after the competition.

***

Mum's picnic lunch was a spectacular success though Buck and Bramble did not eat themselves sick—my one last desperate hope. Of course as she always did, Rainbow Aspinall sat next to me. I had asked Mum to work it so I was between Buck and Bramble as I always did, and she forgot as she always did…or claimed to do. Most likely she sympathized with Bobo's crush on me.

"I'm glad you could come, Buck," Rainbow said to the fox pup.

"I'm Bramble," he replied with a mouth full of food. "He's Buck."

"Well I'm glad both of you are here to share Mountie's hour of triumph. You're going to see some real paddling. Still, Mountie won't beat Carson Beecher too badly. He's too nice for that."

"So he's that good?" Bramble asked.

"I hear he's the best," Buck said.

"You probably heard it from Rainbow," I said with a half laugh. "Still, it is THE Carson Beecher I'm racing."

"He's so modest," Bobo said to Buck. Then she looked back at me. "You know you're the best middling out there."

"Of course he's the best," Buck said with innocent faith in me. I felt a knot in my stomach and excused myself from the table. I had the perfect alibi, for a tug of war was being held during noon break. Since it did not count in the overall day's score, Dad planned to set aside his Grand Mace and join in. I would be there to cheer him on and get my mind off my troubles.

***

There was a rather nasty looking mud puddle that had been dug out and dampened just for the competition. Dad spotted me as I poked a stick into the morass to see just how deep it was.

"We're going to pull the Buford team through that," a familiar voice said. I looked around at my father's smiling face.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he said, but he was taking off his dress jacket and handing it to me to hold, so I knew behind the bluster was a more sober assessment.

"You didn't do this last year," I said.

"I know. But I pushed you into racing when you had your doubts. I won't send someone off to do a job I wouldn't do myself."

I smiled and nodded. "I bet you'll drag them all the way home."

"Bucks, take your places!" shouted another familiar voice. It was Faun Chios, our Vicar.

Dad left to stand with the Aspinalls and Barkbys, taking his place on the rope right in front of Woodly Aspinall, Rainbow's father. How she could miss this great contest with her father's honor at stake?

I did not have to wonder long because her paw rested on my shoulder. "You need to come back behind the line," she said. Woodly smiled and took his paw from the rope long enough for a quick wave.

When the two great armies were ready for combat, Chios shouted, "Ready on my mark, and may the best team win!"

"Thank you, Vicar!" the Buford team shouted in unison. No doubt it was a rehearsed prank. The Silver Creek team began to hiss and boo and only Chios' loudest protests could get them to behave like adults.

"Positions!" the faun shouted. "On three…on two…on one…GO!"

The rope snapped taut as two great armies of beavers pulled apart. "Come on, Dad!" I yelled. Rainbow hopped up and down shouting, "Silver Creek! Silver Creek!" Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Carson Beecher cheering on his father and uncle for all he was worth. Secretly I wished the whole Beaveree could be like that, all fun and no singling out for awards.

At first the Buford team slowly and confidently gained ground. Dell Barkby was dug in by the edge of the mud and he had that look of desperation in his eyes. Dad was pulling with all his might but couldn't budge the rope, at least not in the desired direction. I felt for him, knowing that he was older than many of the bucks out there and was doing it mainly for me. "Come on, Dad!" I shouted. "Master your inner strength!"

I don't know if he heard me or not. Above the cries of the spectators, it is more likely he felt it in some special way if he perceived it at all. Still he gritted his teeth and laid into the rope. And as I watched in stark disbelief they moved a few inches back in the safe direction. It was Kelty Beecher's stumbling that caused the resistance to cave in and be drug unceremoniously through the mud by cheering Silver Creekers.

An exultant Rainbow Aspinall embraced me. I seem to remember holding her too. It just felt right at the moment. We both went to our fathers and celebrated.

Kelty Beecher and his son Carson came over to warmly congratulate Dad. That was part of my problem. If Carson Beecher were the snotty, arrogant sort that threatened to annihilate me in the canoe race I could have despised him and it would have given me strength to win. Carson was too nice to be a proper enemy.

Just then Dad urgently put his paw on my shoulder and pointed toward the staff area. All the bucks were still puffing from their exertions, but father looked in genuine distress. "I think I need to tidy up," he gasped. That phrase only ever meant one thing, so we made a discrete but rapid exit.

***

Father hastily dug in his basket for a small bundle of silvervein leaves that he crushed in his paws and held to his nose to inhale the vapors. My father's heart was full of love and beat strong with character, but he suffered bouts of chest pains he called "my stone to drag."

The minty fragrance did its work quickly. In moments he was much improved, and as he came to himself I breathed a great sigh of relief.

"Don't tell your mother," he said with shame. "Don't tell anyone. It's nothing to be concerned about, and nothing they do could help." He caressed my face with a paw. "I should have told you."

"I've known for a long time," I truthfully said. "Even when the door is shut, I hear a lot of things."

Dad looked away. "I was planning on telling you someday—when you were older—that it seems to run in the family. I am so sorry, Mountie. I pray you are spared this malady, but if you're not, it's not the end of the world, you know. It can be treated."

I put my arms about him. "I'd rather be your son than anyone else in the world, and I'll take whatever goes with it."

He put his strong arms about me. "Remember when I gave you my jacket to hold? It's like that with us—I hope for the best, but I prepare for the worst. I want to go easy on you because I love you, but I stand firm in the end because I love you."

"I understand."

"Remember son, the greatest things in life are not prizes you win but the gifts you are given. Your mother was a special gift, and so are you, and the rain that falls freely from the sky. But gifts like that come with a responsibility. Though you don't earn them, you must work hard to deserve them. Tell me you understand, son…"

"I do. Honest." I kissed his cheek. "Let's here no more of this talk about dying. You'll outlive us all."

"I hope not," he said gently, kissing my brow. "Now let's go win that race."

***

There were a dozen of us in the race. Ten happy beavers were out there to have a great time and enjoy the excitement of competition. Two of us…Carson and I…bore the weight of our family honor. We were the only two expected to win. Actually Carson was the only one expected to win, but he saw I had the gleam in my eye. He knew this would be no lark. I could expect no mercy from him.

Carson gave my boat a good look. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the bow.

"It says Norwood Beaverlee. That was my grandfather's name."

Carson nodded. "That's a great idea. I'm wearing one of Dad's old vests. I wanted him to know part of him is going with me. This race means a lot to him."

"To my Dad too," I said. "I wonder which one of them will win."

Carson thought a moment, and then he laughed when he caught the joke. He patted me on the shoulder. "Mine, of course." He meant it too.

"Positions!" Dad shouted, looking as chipper and bright as ever, which is how he wanted it to be. My heart leaped in my chest. There was no more anticipation, only a long stretch of shining water, twelve hopefuls and one prize. "On my mark…on three…on two…on one…GO!"

We were off! I dug at the water with a vengeance. The Norwood Beaverlee raised a bow wave as I sank father's racing paddle into the water again and again, pulling with all my might. Rivers are slow creatures by nature. For something to move quickly across its surface was an affront to nature, and it made us work hard for the privilege of speed. I could not look much at Carson to judge my progress for to do so was dividing my attention. He would not be looking at me. I looked only at the opposite bank where my family and friends stood cheering.

Buck and Bramble raucously called me on. When I did have the nerve to glance rapidly to my right, I was ahead of Carson! Yes, I was ahead of everyone! I could scarcely believe it! Hope surged. I thought I was paddling as fast as I could go, but the hope of victory made me even stronger. Dad was right—I had mastered the self. For once in my life I was more than myself_. In, back, up, in, back, up!_ The paddle was light and strong and I did indeed feel the tingle of the old victories surging through my paws as I wielded it.

Problem is, the paddle not only had precious memories of victory, it also had dry rot. With a sickening jolt it snapped in two.

The crowd gasped. My boat slowed and halted and my heart sank. And yet I did not give up. I retrieved the floating blade and by holding it in my paws and pulling as hard as I could, I could manage some forward motion. The Norwood Beaverlee would finish the race, as would father's paddle—both parts of it.

Carson Beecher won by a long shot, followed by ten other happy beavers that were just glad to have run their first race and not come in last.

Carson looked out and spotted me. He headed back for his boat but his father stopped him. I don't know what transpired, but right afterward I heard him chant, "Moun-TEE! Moun-TEE!"

The crowd began to join in bit by bit. As I struggled to come in as quickly as possible I heard the whole assembly urging me onward. There were no longer Aspinalls and Barkbys, no Beechers or Buckwoods. _Everyone_ was a Beaverlee, even Buck and Bramble and their kin. They were all pulling for me! Somewhere in the midst of the excitement I had forgotten what strong ties unite us beneath our skins. I would never forget again.

As my canoe touched the shore, well-wishers thronged about me. Carson slapped my back and shook paws. I had impressed Carson Beecher! That alone would have been a wonderful thing. Then Dad pushed through the crowd and put his arms around me. I was overcome with a combination of pride and utter relief.

"Sorry I broke your paddle."

"I'm sorry it cost you the race. Don't worry, son—it had one last hurrah. Paddles belong in the water, not on a wall. Anyhow, you were splendid, son. I told you that you'd be a winner, and so you are!" To this day my performance remains the most exciting last-place at a Beaveree and I feel a strange sort of pride in it.

***

Winner or not, I felt an urgent need to be alone for a bit to sort things out. As soon as I could tear myself away, I went just outside the boundary markers and stood behind a friendly tree, leaning against it and heaving a big sigh. And then I saw Rainbow Aspinall. She had followed me as I dreaded she would.

I had to look away. "Well, I guess I let you down."

"Garn!" She flashed a pretty smile. "It will be raining squirrels the day you let me down, Mountebank Beaverlee!" She drew close. "I like you just the way you are, and that will never change. Someday, I hope and pray you'll feel that way about me." She caressed my cheek with her paw.

I reached up and took her paw in mine, then folded her in an embrace. That was when I had my first kiss, not a very special one as kisses go for I was shy and awkward, but one I will remember always. As my father used to say, _"'Tis better to strive and to miss the prize than stand mid the cheering throng."_ How right he was.

For the first time I realized that she was not only friendly but also quite lovely. Compassion lit her face like the warm glow of summer sunrise. For a few blessed moments I knew just what it felt like to be my father coming home after a long day to feel Mum caressing his tired shoulders.

Just then Carson Beecher surprised us together. He regarded the two of us. I knew he had feelings for Rainbow and I wondered if we were about to compete once more.

"Congratulations", he said at last with a forced but gracious smile.

"What for? You beat me."

"Yes, but you won the _real_ prize."

"She's not a prize to be won," I said gently. "She's a special gift."

After he left us alone I ended up in her arms again, and everything the first kiss lacked was more than made up for on the second go around. Dad's wisdom was useful after all! In fact, he was only wrong about one thing—he is still around helping me to find success in life and always will be. When I remember his advice, he lives again, as firm and loving as ever. And when I follow it, somewhere out there he smiles at me and nods.


	29. The Lucky Coin

TWENTY-NINE

THE LUCKY COIN

The sun and moon are skillful dancers whose steps mark the moments of our lives. We took their art for granted till our Vicar announced there would be an eclipse of the sun. On the Wednesday after Summer Solstice, the lesser light would veil the greater, turning day into night. Such a thing had not happened in many years, and the prospect made the townsfolk feel uneasy. Some thought it a good sign, citing the eclipse which heralded the fall of the White Witch. Yet many more spoke of eclipses before great floods, fires, quakes and wars. As the old proverb says, "When it's night by day, all boundaries pass away." And boundaries, as you know, are all that stand between order and chaos.

In Byron there was more curiosity than panic, thanks to Chios, our level-headed Vicar. He likened the re-emergence of the sun to the resurrection of Aslan, and he promoted the eclipse as both a religious event and a celebration, a spectacle as lovely as it was rare. Chios' calm reaction, shrewd as a centaur and gentle as a lamb, would help propel him one day to the office of Royal Mage.

On his suggestion, some folk went to the Moon and Hare Inn where Thornton Foxworth was holding a watcher's party. The prospect of good food and good friends appealed to many, and by mid-morning the Inn was filled to capacity. Thorny remembered watching the last eclipse when he was a young pup, and he repeated the advice his father had given long ago: "Never stare at the sun. You may sneak a peek at totality when Chios rings the town bells."

Star wanted to watch the eclipse from the top of Crown Hill, her favorite thinking place, but Thorny was dead set against it. He wanted his furlings Star and Bramble close by. Mary Willowtree's daughter Dawn also wanted Bramble close by for her own reasons. Yet Bramble was nowhere to be found. She barely touched the desserts whose sweet fragrance beckoned to her, trying to search for Bramble without showing it.

In fact the fox pup was sitting on the thatched roof with Buckthorn Badger, an ill advised lark for which he would have been scolded or even spanked if caught. Bramble had succumbed to the lure of the forbidden, and besides it afforded him the best view in town.

Buck lay on his back, his eyes averted from the still-brilliant sun. "I wonder what's going to happen next?" he asked.

"The Vicar was here this morning and told us all about it. First it will get a little dim as the moon crosses the sun, but not so you'd notice. And then as it goes about halfway through its…"

"No, not that bit. I mean afterward. Aren't you the least bit scared?"

Bramble half laughed. "Scared of _what_? I'm not superstitious like _some_ folk."

"I hope you don't mean _me_. Now my Uncle Robbie always chalk marks an arrow on the back of his spade so it would dig straight and true. But I always thought that a bunch of rot."

"Oh?" Bramble laughed snidely. "Is that why you always tie a bit of white cloth around your fishing pole to bring you good luck?"

"That's not a superstition," Buck retorted. "The fish won't bite unless you do. Ask anyone." He frowned and snorted. "Besides, you're a poor one to point out other folks' superstitions when you're crawling with 'em. Best to stay here where you feel safe."

"Oy oy!" Bramble snapped. "Are you saying I'm a coward??"

"I'm _saying_ that you wouldn't go to the Southern Marsh alone during the eclipse for all the money in the world!"

It was a devastating challenge. Bramble's ears lay back. "I wouldn't mind it in the least. But…well…my daddy wants me here. He wouldn't let Star go up to Crown Hill and he sure won't let me go to the marsh because crooks hang about."

"You mean because _ghosts_ hang about. And I suppose he let you climb the roof?" Buck glanced over at Bramble. "I have five crescents in my pocket that say you're scared out of your wits."

The taunt got Bramble's blood up. The fox pup spit on his paw. "Either spitshake on it or stow the bilge."

Buck spit on his own paw and took Bramble's. "You're on."

***

The Southern Marsh was not the sort of place where folk wanted to spend their leisure hours. It had a reputation as a hideout for unsavory characters, but most importantly it was said to be teaming with shadows and wraiths. The old saying came back with force: "When it's night by day, all boundaries pass away."

As they looked out over the desolate swampy ground, Buck could sense Bramble's fear. For one thing, why did someone who was not superstitious keep fiddling with his lucky coin? And what was that he whispered to himself? Though Buck's ears were not as sharp as Bramble's he caught a small snatch of the foxes' prayer for protection.

Buck was Bramble's dear friend, and he was wracked with guilt and remorse over the bet. He looked for any excuse, no matter how thin, to get the fox out of there. "We're missing all the food and candy," the badger kit lamented. "You came here which is more than I expected. I'll give you the five crescents if you'll just drop this monkey run and go home."

"There will be leftovers," Bramble insisted in a show of bravado. "Besides, it's more than the money now."

"At least let me stay with you. If anything happens, I want to be here."

"Suit yourself," Bramble said. A quick soulful glance at his best friend betrayed his hidden gratitude. "Nothing will happen. Besides, it won't be long now."

"I don't like this place," Buck said in a near whimper. "Bramble, let's go back."

"It's just grass and mud and flies. I'm not scared of a stupid old marsh."

"I am," Buck stammered. "I'm sorry I dragged you out here, and I'm sorry I said you were frightened. Now please, let's just go while we still can."

Bramble put his paw on Buck's shoulder. "We don't have time to make it back. Besides, I'm here for you. There's absolutely nothing to…" Just then something rustled behind them in the marsh grass. "_Saints be!!_" Bramble squealed, grabbing Buck and holding him in a crush hug. Buck's paws went over his eyes and he shrieked pitifully for his mum.

"Here, now! What's this hurly burly? It's just me!" The voice obviously did not come from a wraith, but rather from a fox pup about Bramble's age. He was a bit pudgier and had a musical lilt to his voice, but in other ways he could have been Bramble's long-lost brother. "What are you blokes doing out here anyhow? Feeding the mosquitoes?"

Bramble stammered, "I…we…were going to watch the eclipse."

"In the middle of the marsh? Garn! Why not watch it with me? I'm Willie, and I live close by. You can come in and meet the folks, have a bit of lunch, and watch the show."

He didn't have to ask them twice.

***

Dawn Willowtree had completed several circuits of the Inn and as her irritation finally gave way to worry she decided to risk looking like a little lovesick vixen with a crush—which she was. She found Thorny easier to find, but harder to speak with. When he wasn't talking with another adult—and she knew better than to interrupt—he was bussing food from the kitchen into the great room and repeating the endless advice not to look at the sun.

Still after several minutes of being his shadow, she caught Thorny's attention. "Do you need to see me about something?"

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed as if the words lifted a great weight from her shoulders. "Have you seen Bramble?"

"Wasn't he with you?"

"No, sir."

"Then he's probably with Buck Badger."

"I haven't seen Buck either. And neither have Oakley or Jasmine. And they are worried."

"He's probably around here somewhere. I told him not to leave the inn today."

"Mister Foxworth, I've been over this place six times."

At this Thorny frowned. "That little tookie will be the death of me…" He scratched his cheek ruff and looked as if he were about to speak again when he was interrupted.

"Thorny!" shouted Mary Willowtree. "Can you help me with some trays?"

Mr. Foxworth disappeared into the crowd and Dawn sighed. "Thanks much, Mum…"

***

Buck and Bramble entered Willie's ramshackle log cabin with a dirt floor scattered with straw. With obvious pride, Willie introduced them to his mother Luna and his father Rufus.

Their extreme poverty was painfully obvious. Bramble, who thought he was poor, was looking about at the crude furniture obviously not made by a real craftsman…sturdy and comfortable but lopsided and crude. He felt a creeping sense of shame at the times he'd envied his more well-to-do neighbors. Truly no one had it so bad that someone wasn't worse off.

Rufus saw Bramble glancing about and discretely said, "I was in love with Luna here, but her family wouldn't let her marry a ne'er-do-well that didn't own a home. I came out here where the land was free and built this house myself, every stone and beam of it is a love song to the missus. It's a little lopsided, but friendly, just like me."

Luna laughed and put her arms about Rufus. "You fond mook! It's a fine house and you know it. And you're a fine husband."

"And you're a fine lady." Rufus said, kissing her cheek. "You see, Bramble, you can sit alone on a pile of gold and be the poorest bloke in the world, or you can stash treasure in your heart and be the richest. Old Lord Cutshaw doesn't have a brass farthing on me."

"That's what my father always says," Bramble replied. "I think this is a nice house too."

Bramble kept glancing over at Luna and smiling, and she, noting it, smiled back at him. She was not the loveliest vixen he'd ever seen, but the warmth that radiated from her kindly face could warm the coldest heart, and when she smiled, her beauty was breathtaking.

"May I help you set the table, ma'am?" Bramble asked.

"Thanks much, sweetheart."

His mother had sometimes called him that, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. He hastened to the cupboard to scrounge up enough place settings to seat five. There were no dishes, only wood and pewter trenchers. There were no forks, only knives and no two of them matched. Still as Luna handed her humble household items to the fox pup, they took on an almost magical power from her joy.

Buck also fell underneath her spell. "I'd be glad to set out the tablecloth."

Luna laughed prettily. "Little badger, we don't have tablecloths. Besides, that's only one more thing to wash, and who needs that?"

Buck contented himself by putting out the tankards and using a straw from the fireplace to light the two candles on the table. After all, it was gradually getting darker outside.

Just then another fox pup entered. Luna looked about. "Well met, Thorny. We have guests."

Bramble thought how odd it was that this little fox had the same name as his daddy. He watched Thorny and Luna embrace, and he was flooded with memories of his own sainted mother. He could feel Clara's arms about him, her paw gently mussing him between the ears, and the depth of his reverie made his eyes misty.

***

After lunch they went to watch the eclipse. The light of the sun overhead was dimming like evening but it was not a healthy rosy red but a sickly gold that withered away shadowless. In the phantom dusk crickets and frogs came out to sing and the air assumed a creeping coolness. A brief glance up—all the fox could tolerate--showed the Crescent Sun and the black moon coming together. It was already dark as late evening and the stars had begun to wink in.

"Hard to believe it's the middle of the day," Buck said in a hushed voice. The spectacle seemed to demand a reverent silence.

Willie was excited. Thorny looked ill-at-ease. Bramble noticed this, and fishing around in his vest pocket, he retrieved his prized possession...his good luck coin. "Here, Thorny, keep this."

"A silver crescent?"

"Yes. Don't' spend it, just keep it in your pocket for good luck and when you're scared, hold it in your paw. It will protect you, and besides that it had two heads. When you flip someone for it, always call heads and there you go."

Thorny giggled, but Buck got a bit huffy. "So _that's_ why you always call heads!" the Badger scowled.

Thorny asked, "If it's so lucky why don't you keep it?"

"Because you need it more than I do."

"Thanks much," Thorny said, his large soulful eyes turning up to fix on Bramble's. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Yes, I promise."

Over the marsh came the distant ringing of the bell tower. They looked up at the rapidly converging spheres. As the moon slipped over the sun and threatened to blot it out, it looked like a gold ring with a large gemstone. In fact, we call that stage the "Royal Ring." Then the eclipse went into totality. Day had become night. If any boundaries were broken, we were none the worse for it. Around the black orb of the moon shone a fiery orange corona with an unearthly splendor. Buck whispered, "Garn, isn't it lovely?"

Bramble felt Luna put her paw around his shoulder and give it a squeeze. "Indeed," she said. "Isn't it marvelous, Bramble? What wonders we are privileged to share."

"Oh yes." His paw lay atop hers and gave it a little squeeze.

After a few glorious moments, another Royal Ring formed in the opposite direction. The spectacle was fading and daylight quickly reclaimed the night. Finally the sun became so bright Bramble had to look away. He glanced about, hoping the bright colored spot in his vision would clear away, planning to say how touched he was. When he could see clearly, his intended audience was gone. There was just Buck, the marsh and a scorched rock chimney exposed to the elements. Buck's paws were wringing nervously. For a long time neither of them spoke.

***

Bramble crept quietly in the back door of the Moon and Hare Inn, his cheek ruffs matted from crying. His expected a stern lecture and perhaps a good whaling, but none of that seemed to matter. He finally spotted his father sitting morosely, looking out the window, drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. "Dad? Are you all right?"

"Yes, son."

"I guess you're wondering where I've been all day."

"No." Thorny looked about and sighed. "I wanted us to spend the day together and watch the eclipse come in. Then I realized that we did." Thorny reached into his vest pocket and pulled out something which he placed in Bramble's paw, closing it. When Bramble opened his paw and looked at it, it was a two-headed silver crescent, well worn by years of use.

Bramble turned the coin over in his trembling paw. "So, it was you. I guess the coin didn't bring you much good luck."

"I wouldn't say that. I survived the fire. I found a home here with Nickaby and Elsie who loved me very much and left me the Moon and Hare Inn. I married a lovely vixen who was far above my station in life and had two wonderful children. And when my new friend promised to see me again, he kept his word." Thorny put his arms around Bramblewood. "It was a very lucky coin. I guess I'm the luckiest person in all of Byron."

"No," Bramble said, resting his face against Thorny's. "I am."


	30. The Succession

THIRTY

THE SUCCESSION

My father Horace Beaverlee was blessed with a work ethic stronger than his common sense. In short, he was a typical buck beaver. He would wake before anyone else and sleep after everyone else and still wish he could cram four more hours into a day.

With age catching up with him, he did show a few signs of scaling back his work, such as not mentioning new projects but spending his time on keeping up the old ones. In his own subtle way he was slowly coming to grips with his mortality.

I began offering to help more and more in the work. Dad always appreciated it when I helped out, though he always acted as it he could have done it himself. It's a beaver thing, a matter of pride. Subtly, slowly the next generation takes on the burden, trained by the masters. Death when it comes brings tears of grief but none of fear. Just like the river, the work goes on without a pause.

Problem is, I wondered even then if I would ever inherit the family estate or not. It was not a question of whether Dad would leave it to me, but if I could accept it in good faith. A beaver will not accept a gift as precious as someone's life's work unless he's willing to commit the same degree of loving care to it. I felt the wanderlust, not the sort that would upset most folk but for a beaver I was a dreamer, even a radical. I had my nagging doubts if I were cut out to devote my new adulthood to maintaining one reservoir. I dreaded becoming a copy of my father even as I cherished his heart and character.

***

Bramble looked totally lost at my coming of age party among all the beavers. He expected to go about with Buck, but Buck showed up with a lovely doe named Sophie who commanded a lot of his attention. I felt so sorry for Bramble that I skirted a number of guests who all wanted to look at the newly minted Mr. Beaverlee to rescue him.

Bramble perked up at once. "So, birthday boy, are you going to get any presents?"

"Yes. Very important ones."

"Got any idea what they are? Dropped any hints?" He winked. I could only imagine how he acted around his dad when birthdays and Christmases came about.

"I will get a saw, a trowel, a length of rope."

"Oh?" Bramble scratched his cheek ruff and narrowed his eyelids. "Go all out for you, did they?"

"It's a tradition. All of these gifts are of little intrinsic value, but all of them highly symbolic and given with love. These are the tools of an adult. Oh, I'm sure the Aspinalls will surprise me with something more fun. There might be other things too."

"I can guarantee it," Bramble said, presenting me with a cedar fife. I remember borrowing it many times over the years. "Maybe you'll learn how to play it after all."

"Oh Bramble, it's wonderful!" I remember giving him a crushing hug. Good old Bramble always put a lot of thought into his presents.

The Aspinalls also put a great deal of thought into what they brought, and that was part of the problem. They always just assumed that their daughter would marry me and that our families would unite. Their daughter Rainbow came to me with a bouquet of mistflowers … a rather intimate gift. Rainbow was very sweet and certainly not painful to the eyes and I must admit she had an effect on me. We had been friends since the earliest days. Yet she also had dreams of being just like her mum in every way, and when I would talk with her about the big world it quickly bored her. Every dream I might have had about taking her to Cair Paravel and showing her the Great Stone Table where Aslan saved Edmund was dashed by her preoccupation with the "simple pleasures" of life. Her mission in life was to "reform" me. Problem is, as much as I admired my father—and hers—I had no desire to be exactly like them. She was expecting us to take up where Mom and Dad left off, and I could not promise her that. Therefore every moment I spent around her went from the pleasure it once was to an exercise in kindly willpower.

Woodly Aspinall sipped tea as he spoke with my father. "Horace, my buck, I used to think looking into the future was for wizards and sages. But I can see a bright future ahead. When we're gone the river will be in good keeping. I mean your Mountebank and my Rainbow."

"But they haven't announced intentions."

"Are you blind, mate? Just look at her. She's struck on Mountie. Thinks he's the best thing since the bow saw. She even brought mist flowers…about as subtle as a rock through a window, eh Horace? It's just a matter of time. And I can't help thinking I won't be losing a daughter; I'll be gaining a son and grandchildren. The reward of Aslan for a long and honest life. Have little feet running about again. Mirrors they are, and you look in their faces you recapture your lost youth. See the world again freshly through their innocent eyes. I can hardly wait."

Dad looked away and bit his lip.

"You all right, Horace?"

"Sure, Woodly. Just a little sentimental, that's all."

Woodly laughed. "Snap out of it, chap! Don't look to the past when it's time to tell the future!" He waved his arms and boomed out, "Get ready to toss in your sticks!"

*******

"The Toss" was a furling game among beavers, but Woodly explained it to help Buck, Sophie and Bramble understand and play along.

"We all want to know the future, for that, my friends, is where we shall spend the rest of our lives! Each of you fetches a short stick, about as long as your paw. Mark it so you can identify it again. When I shout, 'Hold, Set, Go!' you toss your sticks in the river. Once the stick leaves your paw you may not touch it again, and no tossing anything else to raise waves. No one may cheat the future! Wish your fondest wish before you toss, and the one whose stick goes farthest will get their wish!"

It was, in hindsight, a disastrous game to play. Everyone's stick went far except for two that fouled right away: Father's and Rainbow's. I saw the look on Dad's face and asked him to try again. "You know the rules," he said. "I've tossed in my stick." He quickly recovered his composure to cheer us on, but clearly he was disturbed. Rainbow's paw ended up over her heart. All the while my stick kept going on and on. Buck, Bramble, Sophie and I watched our entries sail on out into the main course of the river and that bode well for us. Rainbow gave me a look of silent despair that spoke volumes.

Dad gracefully smoothed that over with the presentation of the three gifts. "A saw because large problems should be attacked a piece at a time. Rope because a beaver's strengths are the ties of family, friends and faith. A trowel because it is attention to detail that keeps life's treasures from slipping away." Dad hugged me more tightly than was his custom. "You will always be a furling to me, but now you are a beaver to the world. Do nothing to let your people down." I silently prayed to Aslan that I would not.

***

The old faun who served as our vicar was also showing signs of age, though he did not have to do hard physical labor like my father. Chios began carrying about his "memories", a small box that unfolded into a portable desk with a pen, paper, and supply of ink. This contrivance was a crutch he leaned upon more and more heavily as time had its toll on him.

He invited me to the vicarage, in the pretext of asking me a small favor. Instead he took me aside and told me he was appointed a mage.

"Congratulations, old fellow! I mean Your Honor. But it will be hard to lose you."

"I believe it was more a reward for my years of faithfulness than any one particular thing I did. But whether it's a sympathy vote or not, I must admit that I've always wanted to wear the stole and get a chance to meet His Majesty. To live in Cair Paravel and visit the library whenever I want. And there's knighthood that goes with it, you know! Still…" He visibly slumped. "…there was always grabbing a pint at the Moon and Hare on Saturday, then dinner with Lord Cutshaw every Sunday. And we finally worked all the problems out of the Regatta. It's like I spent my whole life building a lovely house and right when the last board is nailed into place, being told it wasn't my home anymore. At least, though, I have the privilege of choosing who will get to live there after me."

"Anyone I know?"

"Someone you know rather well." He took the gold key from around his neck, grasped one of my paws and lay it in my palm. "I waited for your coming of age to retire, because I wanted to leave Byron on Wells in the best possible care. You are the best choice."

"Why me? Buck and Bramble made the bells ring. You saw it."

"They are saintly, but they are also tied to the things of this world. Buck is in love and Bramble wants to run the Moon and Hare someday. You, son, are between worlds, midway between Byron and Aslan's Country. You would tie the two together with your love. And when I die, I've asked Mage EveningStar to nominate you. It was my sole condition to accepting the job. He's a North Country badger with a funny sort of speech but a good heart. Like him, you'll be a bit different—a river banker—and the pride of Byron on Wells, which has never had a mage since Papa Orbereth. Though I won't live to see it, I'll be looking down on you saying 'Well done, Mage Beaverlee.'"

I handed him back the key. "I'll have to take it up with my father. I've been helping him out." Still, I felt that most likely it was the answer to my restless longings, a sign from Aslan. In some ways it reassured me, in others it terrified me. Most signs from the Great Lion do a little bit of both.

*******

I went home and Dad was busy. Of course I pitched in too, waiting for a good moment to spring the news. But my work was not up to its usual standards, and it was clear my mind was on other things.

"Out with it," he said.

"Out with what?" I could tell by his grave expression that the jig was up. "Well, Chios is going to be a Mage. He wants me to be the next Vicar of Byron on Wells."

"I know. I've always known." He sighed deeply. "You stare at the stars not as old friends but as guideposts on some great journey away from hearth and home. And after I saw how the miracle of the bells affected you, I knew from that moment on you were cut out for questing. I knew there would be a good bye, and not at the death bed as is custom but at the door."

"Oh Daddy...."

"I've approached Mr. Aspinall's son Woodrow—privately, of course, for it would break his father's heart. Woodrow would come in as hired help with his young wife and live with us. Then when the natural course of things changes, he would run the dam. I could pass on in peace knowing that everything in Byron on Wells was in good keeping. You would handle the town and Woodrow would keep the river."

I was caught off guard. "Well I must say, Dad, you're taking this awfully well. I had halfway decided to turn him down because of you, marry Rainbow and do my duty like a good son."

"Don't do that, Mountie my boy. Never marry except for love, and never take someone's pond unless your heart is in it. My talent was hard physical work. Yours is different but no less hard. You are a great thinker, a caring and wise young buck that, like me, wants to leave the world a better place. But you have your own path different from mine. And I know you will make a great Vicar…and a great Mage."

"Dad, if you think it's best…"

"It's what Aslan thinks that truly matters. I'm proud of you son. We're all proud of you. Do what brings you peace, feeds your soul, and makes you happy. Now if you don't mind, I have things I have to handle. It seems like it might rain tonight and I want to clean the spillway."

"I'll fetch my new saw and help you."

"No, son. I need to do this alone." He gave me a hug. I understood he wanted some time to himself and did not press it.

***

Dad had been gone for a while. Mom looked out of the lodge with a packed lunch. "Mountie, if you're not too old to run errands, would you take this to your father?"

I kissed her and took the wrapped package, heading down the trail along the edge of the river. I knew where I'd likely find him, a small spot where he went to do his "serious thinking."

I was right. Walking as quietly as I could, I managed to sneak up on him. I needed to know it was all right to approach. And then I saw something I wish I had not. It was Dad sitting on the bench with his face buried in paws. It was only the second time in my life I saw Dad cry.

The depth of his pain cut me like a knife as he surrendered his cherished dreams for me. And though I've always loved my father, in that one moment I believe I loved him more than ever before and more than I ever could again. I would have given up my future then and there but it was too late to take back what was said, and my father hated hypocrisy worse than disappointment. I would never convince him in a thousand years that I'd had a genuine change of heart. I had "tossed in the stick" and I could only watch it drift downstream and hope for the best. I hung my head, quietly turned and went back.

***

Chios handed me the key in a private ceremony. The town would witness a bit of pomp and pageant later, but for the moment it was my parents, and Buck and Bramble. "In the name of the Great Lion whose song made the world, I present you with this key. Bear it well, son of waters." He slipped the key around my neck, and then kissed me on both cheeks. "It is my pleasure to present to you Vicar Mountebank."

I answered, "The pleasure is all mine, Mage Chios."

Mom and Dad both hugged me tightly, followed by Bramble and finally Buck. The badger patted my back and said, "First order of business, Vicar, is a wedding."

"Who's the lucky couple?"

Buck gave me quite a robust slap on the back. "Har har! Who do you think? This morning I asked Sophie if she would be my wife. She said yes!"

Bramblewood looked scandalized. "Why you little beast! Why didn't you tell your old pal Bramble??"

"I only found out myself this morning."

The fox put his arm around the badger and I. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer chap! Congratulations…to both of you!"

*******

I chose this life of my own free will and never truly regretted it, though I do sometimes think of the life my folks had together and wonder how it might have been. A kiss for Rainbow, a hug for each of our furlings, a cup of tea for the weary laborer and a prayer to Aslan for more rain. Nothing worth having is ever won without its price…that was mine.

Dad was always supportive of my decision though I knew for the longest time he was struggling with it. I would visit him and he would always be glad to see me. But for years when I asked him to visit me at the vicarage, he would always smile and say, "I'll get around to it" which he never seemed to do. Then I got a knock at the door late one evening and it was Dad, looking frail and bent but with that same bright fire in his eyes. "Is it too late to stop by for tea?" he asked. The way he phrased the question, it may have had two meanings, and a lump rose in my throat. "It's never too late for you," I said, certainly meaning it both ways and trying to conceal my excitement. "I'll use a bit of arrowroot, just the way you like it. Now find you a chair and make yourself at home."

I'm sure somewhere in Paradise, Aslan smiled. I smiled too. All was right with the world.


	31. Making Promises

THIRTY-ONE

MAKING PROMISES

Bramble waited anxiously for the vixen to wash the last dish in the sink. He snatched it from her paws, quickly dried it, set it in the cupboard, and excitedly wriggled out of his apron like a caterpillar rushing to be a butterfly. "Well Dawn, the shift is over and I'm off to the bowling green for a few ends!"

In Byron on Wells lawn bowling was more than a pastime, it was a mania. Some folk, not trusting the balls for rent at the green, buy their own. Bramblewood Foxworth had few possessions but one of his proudest was his own bowling ball. He swept it from the counter and grabbed his cap.

"I'm going out to grab a quick bite," Dawn Willowtree said, taking off her own apron with a bit more care. "Be sure to say hello to Buck for me and…"

Her sentence was cut off prematurely by the slam of the back door.

"…have a nice time," she muttered.

Her mother Mary, the cook, came over and caressed her shoulder with a paw. "What do you see in him?"

"Come on, Mother! You were a girl once."

"Hah!" Mary said, giving her daughter a playful shove. "Thank you for noticing."

***

Bramble hurried about the green, looking about through the crowd of players for Buck.

Finally he caught sight of Buck and his wife Sophie.

"Hello Buck! Aye, I mean _you_, loser! Are you ready for more humiliation?"

Buck looked around. "Sorry, not today. I only came by to extend my regrets."

Bramble's face fell. "But I reserved the usual rink. I laid out a deposit."

"I'm terribly sorry. Something came up. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check on fishing tomorrow as well, but we'll get together at the end of the week, I promise."

"But we always fish on Tuesday!"

Sophie looked at him sympathetically. "Poor Bramble. I'm going to the market with Honey Bear on Tuesday. If you don't buy cane sugar by Tuesday you can forget finding it in for the rest of the week and we're fresh out."

Bramble asked "Honey Bear?"

Buck laughed, embarrassed. "That's what Snookie calls me."

"Snookie? Honey Bear? Garn, people will think you're in love!"

Sophie laughed. "That's what the rumors say." She had a lovely laugh and it was hard for Bramble to stay angry. "Did you have any nicknames for him?"

"I call him Buck. Though I'm considering a new one…" The fox's eyes narrowed. "Something that means 'undependable', but shorter."

Buck looked down a bit. "I'm not really undependable, you know. I just have more people that depend on me these days and it complicates things. Please don't be upset."

"There now, Buck," Bramble said, feeling a bit contrite. "The end of the week is fine. But no more excuses, mate. All right?"

"Of course. I'll see you on Friday."

Bramble skulked off, muttering to himself, "With any luck I might pry Honey Bear away from Snookie for a few ends. Honey Bear, indeed!"

Bellweather Otter saw Bramble looking rather dejected. He clapped him on the back with a paw. "Got a rink reserved, mate? How about a couple of ends with ol' Bellie with a pint at stake?"

"Thanks, but no, Bellie. You can use my rink, but find yourself another partner. I really don't feel much like playing."

*******

Bramble sat dejected on the park bench looking over the lovely River Wells, his prized bowling ball beside him. He had been taking his station there a lot lately with Sophie in the picture. From where he sat he could spy the place where he used to go fishing with Buck. On the one side he was happy for Buck and Sophie, so much in love and so content. On the other side, he felt a terrible sense of loss. As much as Sophie loved him in her own way, Bramble loved him equally, and for many more years.

He could never forget how Buck looked, his face taut with the unexpected depth of his pain, holding out his paw with a small trickle of blood. Bramble had taken the long honey locust thorn from him and, pausing only a moment to dread its awful business end, sent it like a flaming arrow into his own paw. He yipped loudly at the pain, but Buck, who had only moaned softly, thought no less of him for it. Panting with mixed pain and pride, the fox pressed his paw into Buck's and let the blood commingle. "One blood ye and I," Buck said through gritted teeth. "Brothers forever," Bramble answered.

His reminiscence was interrupted when a vixen sat down on the bench next to him. He looked about.

"Oh, it's you, Dawn."

She nodded. "Is it all right if I sit here?"

"I don't own the bench," he said with a sigh. "Help yourself."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You miss him, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"It's not often you take your bowling ball down to watch the ducks in the river." She put her paw on his shoulder and gave it a little pat. "I know how you must feel. Before you got old enough to think girls were icky, we used to be playmates. Remember the times we used to have together? And then I lost you to Buckthorn Badger. I cried for two whole days."

Bramble looked about, a faint smile on his face. "Two whole days over me?"

"Maybe three." She sighed and looked out at the water. "You haven't lost him, but he's grown up now, and so are you. That changes things. You'll have to find different ways to enjoy your friendship."

"What different ways? When I can't even go lawn bowling or fishing with him anymore? He never used to give a flying flip about finding cane sugar at the market! She's changed him. He's not the same person he used to be."

She looked him right in the eyes. "He's the same. It's that you're single while they're married. That's an awkward situation. If you were married too, there are things you could do together as couples that just won't happen while you're a third wheel on the cart. It may not be fair, but it's the way of the world."

"Got anyone in mind for me?" Bramble said with his ears slightly laid back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He scowled. "Girl, sometimes you're about as subtle as a brick through the window."

"A brick couldn't break your window." Her tail tip twitched in frustration.

"You always had a way with words."

She sighed. "We used to have fun. Now all you do is sit around feeling sorry for yourself, and afraid of me! I'm the last person in the world to want to hurt you!"

"Look, I didn't mean to sound harsh. Just forget I said it, all right? Besides, my break is almost over and I must be back at work."

"Bramble?" She stopped him with a gentle tug of her paw. "Please don't go away upset. I may love you, but I still your friend. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

He smiled at her and patted her paw with his. "Thanks, Dawn. I'm just not fit company right now."

*******

Thornton Foxworth was hard at work in the kitchen. He had spent many years so occupied for his employer Nickaby Otter, but now he had a very personal stake in it.

Thorny took great pride in keeping up his small empire, and he enjoyed serving the customers, but he understood his son's desire to get out and enjoy the crisp autumn weather. He resolved that Bramble would have the childhood he never had and he made it happen by sheer determination. He was equally determined that his life as an adult would never be the drudgery he had to endure. That is why Bramble had time to go lawn bowling on Monday and fishing on Tuesday.

***

Bramble was sulky when he came in for the evening shift. He stalked into the kitchen with drooping ears and tail.

"Did Buck finally get the better of you?"

"We didn't play," Bramble said morosely, tying on his apron.

"What's eating you boy?"

"It's nothing, really."

"I see. Well if it's nothing, I'll wash and you dry."

Thorny dipped another plate in the rinse water, and then scoured it with the brush. He glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye. Thornton Foxworth was an expert in loneliness and he saw all the classic signs etched deeply in his son's face.

As he handed off the plate to Bramble in came Dawn. She did not glance at either of them but headed straight to the rack and took her apron. "I'll wait the tables," she said quickly and with her apron only halfway tied on she left the kitchen.

Thorny shook his head. "Tonight everyone's suffering from nothing, really."

Bramble sighed. "I hope this comes out right. You speak of Mum like she was a saint. But when she was alive, how did the two of you get along?"

"We loved each other."

"Every moment?"

Thornton patted him on the shoulder with a paw and smiled. "Your mother and I had our differences. At first it was hard to work through them, but mostly we fought over things rather than each other. It's important to let someone have opinions rather than be their opinions. And besides, afterwards, well, we got to make up." He smiled dreamily. "The only thing harder than living with someone is growing old alone. There will be spats along the way, but when you fall in love, always remember the two words that will fix anything. 'I'm sorry.' Those two words have saved many a marriage. And with time you'll slip into a comfortable routine like we did. You learn to respect the differences between you and you may even realize that sometimes she's right and you're wrong."

"I miss her."

"I know. Not a day goes by I don't think of her." Thornton looked over at the lonely vixen in the dining room. "The Fall Fellowship is coming up soon. Dawn is a very lonely girl. You're pretty lonesome yourself. Son, why don't you humor your old daddy and invite Dawn to the dance?"

"Well…"

"Good lad."

***

Bramble approached the vixen in the public room. "Dawn, I have something to ask you."

"I'm a bit busy now.

"I see. I can come back later, I guess."

She sensed his tension. "Well, what is it?"

"Well, you know the Fall Fellowship is coming up soon. I don't suppose you have a date yet, do you? If you don't, would you go to the dance with me?"

She looked him penetratingly in the eyes as a mother might do when asking her guilty furling for a confession. "Do you really want me to be your date?"

"Well, uh, sure. Why not?"

She looked about to cry. The rag she was using to dust the table with slipped from her paw. "I have no pride left—none at all. I shouldn't be so desperate as to accept an act of charity from the likes of you, but I can't say no. I'll go."

Some of the patrons glanced about.

"It's not charity," Bramble insisted. "You're a fine girl and it's a crime for someone like you not to have a date at the Fall Fellowship. It's one of our busiest days and I was planning to work the concessions, but…"

"It's not like you're the only one to ask me," she said, her chin trembling. "You don't get it, do you?? It's not about dancing or treats or music! And it's not about seeing and being seen! I just wanted to know what it felt like to be in your arms. Maybe one waltz with you is my only chance! I hate myself for being so weak!" Tears started to spill down her cheeks and her paws trembled with emotion. "Bramblewood Foxworth, I ought to chuck this towel in your face, but I can't bring myself to hurt you!" She buried her face in the towel and ran from the room.

Bramble stood there in consternation. A kindly looking elderly stoat said, "Son, how about a nice pint of stout?"

"I'll fetch it right away, sir."

"For you, lad. You could use a stiffener." He plunked a silver crescent down on the table.

"Thank you, no sir," the fox answered, pushing the crescent back toward him. "I don't drink on duty, but you're most kind."

"The course of true love is never smooth," the stoat said, "yet the rivers always reach the sea."

"The lucky ones do," Bramble said. He went back into the shelter of the kitchen and rested against the wall, letting out a long sigh of resignation.

Thorny patted his shoulder. "How did it go, son?"

"She's right about one thing. I don't get it."

"Turned you down, did she?"

"No, she accepted. And yet I've never felt so low in all my life. I'll never understand vixens."

"Don't try to understand them," Thornton said. "Just try to appreciate them and let them understand you."

*******

I was just putting on tea at the Vicarage when I heard a knock at the door. A Vicar is used to being disturbed at all hours, but I rather liked company, especially for tea.

It was Bramble. He doffed his cap respectfully. "Vicar Mountebank…?"

"Mountie to you…always."

"I'm here to see you about something important."

"Catering the Fall Fellowship?"

"I…uh…yes. How did you know?"

"Because it is upon us and you work at the Moon and Hare Inn?"

"Well…fine. And while I'm here, could we have some time to just talk? You know, you always say the most thoughtful things and sometimes you clear the mud out of the pond. Old Chios couldn't have picked a nicer fellow for the job."

"Why, thank you!" I poured out tea and got a few biscuits. I added lots of cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. Never underestimate the power of tea and biscuits. "I wanted to talk to you too," I said, watching him stuff in a whole biscuit at a single bite and wash it down with a large gulp of tea.

"Oh, what about?" he said with his mouth full.

"Buck was just by…"

The fox nearly choked on the biscuit. He downed the rest of his tea in one long draught, which must have been painfully hot. "What did he want?"

In my most calming tones, I said, "He urgently wanted me to pray for you. Some woe he couldn't speak about."

"I can't imagine…"

"So Bramble, is he just overreacting to something? Your father was in here yesterday asking me to pray for you, and he wouldn't tell me why. And there was Dawn Willowtree. Odd to get three callers in one week for a fellow that's doing so well."

"All right, maybe I'm not my usual cheerful self."

I shut the door to the room, took my seat, and made a great show of pouring me another cup of tea and offering him a top-off. He waved me away.

After a couple of biscuits so I wouldn't look too anxious, I said, "Bramble, I've looked up to you and tried to be like you all my life. Now there's lots of friendly faces I'll wave to and some of those I call dear friends. But with you and Buck I'm not ashamed to call it love. I love you, Bramblewood Foxworth. If anyone in the world would really try to help, it would be me."

Bramble leaned forward and put his arms around me. "I love you too, and make no mistake about it. But this is a little too personal. It's something I have to handle on my own. You can pray about it, but I'd just as soon not go into details."

"As you wish," I said. "Will you pray with me?"

He and I put paws around each other. I prayed eloquently and urgently for him to have help in time of need. He prayed too, in his own simple words, asking Aslan not to let him be weak and give in to his feelings. I felt such struggle going on inside him that it broke my heart, but was careful not to lose my composure…at least till he left. It's sad enough watching the normal decline of time and tide, but seeing that fine young fox crumble before my eyes was almost more than I could bear.

Even without his confession, I knew what was amiss.

*******

The eve of the Autumnal Equinox was perfect. It was just cool enough to be refreshing, and there was not a cloud in the sky.

Bramble showed up with Dawn, looking a bit self-conscious and uncomfortable. I had slipped a few crescents to Woodrow and Rainbow Aspinall to relieve them in the kitchen for the evening. Let's just say that prayer is a wonderful thing, but it's what you bring to the altar yourself that keeps them from being wishful thinking.

Buck and Sophie found Bramble and Dawn and came over to be sociable. "Be thankful," Buck said in the usual greeting, but he added, "We have much to be thankful for. You're my blood brother, and soon you shall be a blood uncle if there's such a thing. We're expecting our first child!"

"You? You little striped scamp you!" After a pause, the fox grabbed him in a crushing hug. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow! I mean it with all my heart! Be thankful!"

"Thank you, Bramble. I know lately we haven't seen much of each other, and I feel badly about it. Still, you have to understand…"

"I do understand. Really. So are we talking a son or a daughter?"

"Of course," Buck said with a wink. "They're the best kind of furlings!"

"That's a big responsibility."

"I know. For a while at least I'm going to be rather scarce with a new family and all. Still, through it all, nothing between us has changed." Buck took Bramble's paw in his and gave it a little squeeze. "One blood ye and I."

"Brothers forever," Bramble muttered, deeply stirred.

"You haven't forgotten," Buck said.

"I never will," Bramble said, returning the squeeze.

In the meanwhile I had finished counting the votes for King and Queen of the harvest. I rang the bell to get everyone's attention and announced, "This year's royal couple is…Oakley and Jasmine Badger!"

"Oy!" Buck shouted, "It's my mum and dad!"

The two embarrassed but smiling badgers went up to the dais where they were robed and crowned. Each wore a crown of holly and a necklace of strung berries. Oakley held a scepter of wheat and Jasmine held an orb from a small melon. They were enthroned, and then everyone joined paws and danced about the pair in concentric rings.

_Hail the Harvest King and Queen_

_And hail the harvest gold_

_All the goods are gathered in_

_Before the winter cold_

_Let us dance around their feet_

_As in the days of old_

_Let's shout the loud hallelujah! _

_Huzzah! Huzzah! We hail the King and Queen!_

_Huzzah! Huzzah! They wear the gold and green!_

_Don't they make a splendid pair, the best you've ever seen!_

_Let's shout the loud hallelujah!_

After the dance the orchestra began to play a waltz. Oakley and Jasmine came down, embraced, kissed, and began to dance; then the others joined in. Bramble took Dawn in his arms and started to circle the dance floor gracefully.

"It's sweet to see that old couple so much in love," Dawn said.

"They're a treasure," Bramble admitted. "Buck is a lot like his dad."

"You're a lot like your father too," Dawn said.

"In what ways?"

"You have his kindly eyes. And I bet he used to have your keen sense of humor."

She regretted saying it instantly, but Bramble showed no signs of being offended. "I'd almost forgotten. Before Mum died, he was a jolly sort of fellow. You think things like that get passed down?"

"Who knows?" she said with a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder and cuddling him with a paw as they sailed through a sea of music. "You dance like him. I wish this moment could last forever…"

Bramble's eyes half closed and a smile warmed his face. "Nice, isn't it?"

At the end of the dance he looked deeply into her soft hazel eyes, drew her close and kissed her.

She sighed. "Oh, Bramble! I feel weak in the knees!"

He seemed to snap back to himself. "Well, it happened in the heat of the moment. Don't read too much into it."

*******

The second dance was not as intimate as the first. Indeed, the strain between Bramble and Dawn was so taut that it was like a threadbare rope ready to snap.

As the music died out, Bramble tensely muttered, "I think we need some fresh air. Let's step away, shall we?" Ordinarily such a proposition would mean moonlit kisses and tender embraces. Dawn shuddered in the grip of her more realistic expectations.

"Did you have something to say to me, Bramble?"

"Yes, Dawn. And I can't put it off anymore."

She braced herself for rejection. "Very well then. We're here. What is it?"

"It seems rather set in stone that you and I would come together. Everybody seemed to know that but me. Well you're a fine girl and I'm sure you'd make a great wife and a wonderful mother. So Dawn, will you marry me?"

She shuddered, her face looking much as it did when he asked her to be his date. He seemed to know what was next before she said it, but it stung nonetheless.

"No, Bramble."

"How's that? I thought you were wild about me?"

"I don't want to be a fine girl, a great wife OR a wonderful mother! I want you to love me the way I love you! If you don't love me, nothing else matters!"

"But Dawn…"

"I thought I had no pride left, but I do have one scrap of pride." She tenderly caressed his cheek with her paw. "There's only so much room for moonlight and roses. A girl needs someone to be there for her, a friend that's fun to be with. You were fun to be with once. I used to envy Buck being your best mate. I thought when I got to be a young lady I could compete with him. But it seems like everything I do pushes you further and further away!"

"I didn't realize…"

"I learned to lawn bowl for you."

"I didn't know you had…"

"I might not be any good at it, but that just meant you'd win more ends."

He took her paw in his. "You're a very fine girl. I have always admired you and respected you deeply."

"But never loved me. That is what I needed most. I need your love, Bramble. And someday when you need my love, I'll…"

Bramble pulled his paw back. "I don't need _anyone_. You build your life around people then they leave you _flat!_ I'm tired of people leaving me when I need them the most! I don't want to end up living in the past like Daddy. _I won't, I tell you! I won't!!_"

"You're already ended up like him! Except you have no loving memories! If he has _nothing_, you have _less_ than nothing!"

Bramble gasped, staring at her. His paws came up to his face. "Oh, Dawn!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "That was cruel. I didn't mean that."

"Why not?" he stammered. "It's spot-on true." He nervously clinched his paws. "It's good you didn't accept my proposal. You don't need to be saddled with me. You need someone you can call Honey Bear and drag to the market. Someone that will jump blindly into things without counting the cost. Someone that will take foolish risks and never look back. Well you'll have to look elsewhere for that, girl!"

"Bramble! Please!"

"I've had enough dancing for one night. Good-bye, Dawn. And I mean good-bye. I'll treat you right at work and wish you good evening and the like, but don't let it fool you. There could never be anything more than common courtesy between us."

"I'm sorry! Oh Bramble, I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. Anyhow, thanks for the dance."

After Bramble left, Dawn paced around in an agitated circle. She clinched her paws and shouted, "Bramblewood Foxworth, you're the most insufferable creature that ever crawled out of the swamp! Why I ever wasted a bit of sympathy or affection on you I'll never know!" She pounded on the side of an oak tree. "If I never see you again, it will be too soon! I hate you, I hate you, _I HATE YOU!_ And to think I was _stupid_ enough to come to this dance with you, desperate just to feel you hold me… "

The depth of her distress caused tightness in her chest and she leaned against the tree gasping. "To hold me in your arms! You loved me while we were dancing! I know you did!" She put her arms around the tree trunk, clinging to it desperately and sobbing.

*******

It was close to midnight. By the drunken light of a few flickering candles Dawn went about the painful task of emptying out her dresser and wardrobe, removing her few mean belongings from the room in the Moon and Hare she had called home. She could not stand to face Bramble again, knowing he'd never love her and she would never stop loving him.

She took out a hairbrush, a brass mirror, a good luck coin that Bramble had given her. The act of removing them from the drawer and putting them in her knapsack was painful enough. Yet the deepest pain of all came from a simple brass key on a cotton string. It reflected the candlelight in brief flashes as it turned and swung at the end of its simple tether. Never again would the back door ever yield to her. With one last turn in the lock and a shove beneath the door, that key would forever close out her light and life.

She stood staring at it for a bit. As tears flooded her eyes, the thought of leaving Mother, no place to stay and no money or will to go turned her toward dark thoughts. "Maybe it would be easier on everyone if I just end it all…" She looked up and cried, "Aslan! You've never been in love, but you've been in pain! Have mercy! Help me! Please help me!"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone trying the front door.

Panicked, she looked around the room for something that might be a weapon. There was a long-forgotten walking cane in the umbrella stand, perhaps a token from some former guest. Her heart practically in her mouth, she stepped out of her room, candle in one paw and cane, shaking, in the other.

The front door flew open. In the stream of moonlight a dark silhouette ran across the public room and to the base of the stairs.

"Who's there??" Dawn cried.

"Dawn! Dawn!" The voice was tinged with desperation. "Dawn, where are you??"

"Bramble??"

The fox came running up the stairs toward her. "Forgive me! Forgive me, Dawn! I didn't mean it! I love you! _I do love you!_" He reached the top of the stairs, grabbing her, holding her pressed tightly against him and kissing her repeatedly.

"Oh, Bramble!" Trembling with emotion, she dropped the cane and candlestick and threw her arms around him. "Never let me go! _Love me and never let me go!_"

"You'd never leave me would you, Dawn?"

"No, never!" she said, running her paws through his soft, fiery fur.

*******

The Moon and Hare Inn was splendidly decked for the wedding. All the tables had been moved to the back room and the room sparkled with the light of countless candles.

For once Bramblewood Foxworth was not allowed to pitch in, exiled to a nervous vigil at the Vicarage while Dawn Willowtree had a traditional bridal snack of tea and apple cake with Mum and Dad at the lodge. It would have been bad luck for either to see each other or the room before the ceremony began.

And if the lucky bride and groom were nervous, imagine how I felt when I heard Mage Chios had made a surprise visit to see little Bramble get wed. It was the first time I ever saw him in his royal purple robe and crimson stole with gold embroidered lions. The effect was breathtaking, and I must admit that his already kind face looked so beautiful and serene that I had to run up and embrace him. My old teacher assured me that he had retired from performing weddings and that he was just another guest at the party.

Thornton Foxworth wanted everything to be perfect. He was darting about poking his nose into everyone's preparations and being in general a loveable well-meaning nuisance. In his usual discrete way, Mage Chios asked Thorny to sit beside him during the service and suggested he might want to go ahead and find a good seat in the front row.

***

"They're coming!" shouted Moonwood Hare. "Prepare for the Bride and Groom!"

Everyone hurriedly took their seats except for the two Mr. and Mrs. Badgers who stood by the door. Then after a couple of tense minutes the door swung open and in walked Bramble and Dawn.

Buck and Sophie stood to the right of them and Oakley and Jasmine stood to the left, forming a square about the bride and groom, and when I motioned them forward they managed to stay in perfect step about the couple as they approached the dais.

I nervously tugged at my stole. "Bramblewood Foxworth, son of Aslan and heir to his promises, do you take Dawn to love and protect in body and spirit from this day forth as your holy wedded wife?"

"I so swear."

"And Dawn Willowtree, daughter of Aslan and heir to his promises, do you take Bramblewood to love and protect in body and spirit from this day forth as your holy wedded husband?"

"I so swear."

I took off my stole and draped it over their necks. Then holding the ends in my paws I crossed it over to form a closed loop I said those most happy of words, "Even so! I present to you a new family…Bramblewood and Dawn Foxworth. May the love of Aslan hold you. May happiness, like sunshine, greet you each morn so long as you both shall live. Amen."

Proud but timid, Bramble and Dawn prepared themselves to be kissed. Not by each other as it's done in Cair Paravel, but by all the guests. In Byron on Wells, while the Vicar's blessing still hung warm around a newly joined couple, all the wedding guests expected to share in the good luck.

Each guest came up and kissed Bramble or Dawn, usually a quick buss on the cheek but when Buck Badger came up, he flung his arms around Dawn and gave her a lingering smooch that made her tail twitch. _"Woo-HOO!"_ he shouted, _"What a vixen!"_ As the crowd roared with laughter, Sophie came marching up, pulled him away with one great heave, then said, "Buckthorn Badger, _do you call that a kiss?_" She grabbed Bramble in a crushing embrace, tilted him back and gave him such a long, burning kiss that his ears laid back. Then she let him fall to the ground. "There, folks, you may have what's left of him."

Wiping his mouth with a paw, Bramble sat up, looking stunned. "Garn, no wonder he married you!"

***

Bramble and Dawn have been together for many years and their love still binds the two as one. Bramble's happiness has helped warm Thornton's later years, and he smiles and hums as he works with a joy that for many years lay dimmed in the shadows.

The twins that Sophie Badger was carrying turned out to be a doe named Rosie and a son…whose name makes me pause to wipe away a wistful tear…Mountebank Badger. You see in his own special way Buck was worried that the name of Beaverlee would die out with me, and unable to carry on the last name, he gave my first name a kind of immortality. I like to think my son would have been named Buckthorn Beaverlee. It has a nice ring to it.

Gone is the youthful bloom Buck and Bramble once had, but time compensated them in other ways. With the furlings grown and married, our badger and fox rediscovered the powerful magic of leisure time. Dawn and Sophie became fast friends, enjoying their common interest in archery while "the boys" were out lawn bowling or fishing. If you listen carefully to Buck and Bramble as they sit on the dock, poles at the ready, you'll realize that while some things change, other things are forever. And that's as it should be. May Aslan hold them, and may happiness, like sunshine, greet them each morn.


	32. Doorways

THIRTY-TWO

DOORWAYS

One spring morning as I was lighting the stove for tea, I heard a timid knock. As a Vicar I was used to being disturbed at all hours by all sorts of visitors and nothing surprised me anymore. Still I gasped when I saw Mrs. Rainbow Beecher at my front door.

"What an unexpected pleasure!" I stammered.

"It's good to see you, Vicar," she said shyly. "How long has it been?"

"Far too long. Won't you come in?"

She was as lovely as ever but her face was tinged with sadness. She glanced about the sitting room at the books piled randomly on the shelves, the overstuffed coat tree and the fireplace mantel piled high with assorted small objects. It was her first visit since I moved from Beaverlee lodge, and she regarded my new surroundings with distress.

"Garn," she said in a half whisper, "is it always this quiet?"

"Rarely," I said with a half laugh. "Someone's always knocking at the door, especially when I'm eating or taking a nap."

"If this is a bad time, I'll come back later."

"Oh no! _Please_ stay. It's _never_ a bad time for you." I rested a paw on her shoulder. "I was about to put on some tea. Let's catch up on old times over a cup of Calormen Pekoe and some sugar biscuits. I want to hear everything you've been up to."

"Perhaps later, Vicar."

"It's Mountie—always." I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "By the Lion, I weighed calling on you a thousand times, but I'd always lose my nerve at the front door."

Her eyes met mine sympathetically. "Me too! I would stop before I reached the Hedgely place. Sometimes I would stand there and have a good cry." She looked like she was about to have another one as she shifted nervously on the bench. "I've missed you terribly!" Her glance fell on the crack under the window. "I worried about coming here, but now that I have, I'm worried about you!"

"What's the matter, dear?"

"Just look at this place! Look at _you!_ You never lived like this at home. Won't you at least let me give your vest a skim of the iron?"

"Thanks much, but this suits my busy lifestyle, and you have enough ironing to do for your husband." I set the teapot on and looked about. "Speaking of which, how is Carson these days?"

"He's doing well. We live in Timber Buckwood's old place out on Buford Creek."

"You mean the haunted house?"

"It's not haunted, you fond mook." She managed a slight smile. "It was very shabby when we first moved in but we've worked hard on it. The dam is in top form, the walls are whitewashed and I've replanted all the flower boxes. It's not just a house anymore, it's our home."

"Splendid! I'll have to drop by someday—if Carson doesn't mind."

"He won't mind, and I'm sure he'd like to see you again. He's not the jealous sort. You couldn't ask for a gentler, kinder mate, and for someone who was so daring and reckless, he's become rather…well, he's a bit…"

"More mature?" I asked, provoking a smile and a shy nod. "He always was a good lad. I guess a few responsibilities brought out the best in him."

"It brought out the best in you too," she replied. "I heard your speech on Remembrance Day. You sounded so confident and strong, not like that shy little thing that hid under the table one Christmas Eve so you wouldn't have to dance with me."

"And you didn't even know how to dance!" I said with a chuckle.

"Of course I did. I gave you an out because you had the shakes and I thought you were going to hit the floor."

"I wasn't _that_ frightened," I confided. "I wish I'd known all that before Mum taught me the waltz. I stomped on her poor feet more than the rug!"

Her smile faded and she looked down. "Teaching is what I came about, actually. I don't know the cost of lessons, but I want my girl to learn her letters. Vicar…Mountie…you know how hard your own father worked to get you an education…well I love my little girl just the same as he loved you. Still, between fixing up the house and the reservoir and paying all the bills…we're not exactly…"

I put my paw on her shoulder and gave her a little pat. "Of course, Bobo. Whatever you can spare will be good enough."

She let out a deep sigh of relief. "Bless you, Mountie! Bless your dear soul!"

"Bless _you_, Bobo. You're a good mother. An education can help her dreams come true."

She looked about the room again. I had left a stack of books on the bed and she gazed at them a moment. "Did _your_ dreams come true?" Her paw took mine and she looked intently into my eyes. I expected her to cry at any moment. "Is this what you dreamed of, Mountie?"

I could not tell if it was her paw trembling or mine. Perhaps it was both. "I dream as I go. Some of my plans bear fruit while others don't. That's life." I put my other paw on hers. "I won't lie to you…I have a hard time sleeping nights without the river's lullaby. And sometimes when I walk into this empty house I feel like I'm the last lonely creature in the world. Living dry is harder than I thought, but it's worthwhile as long as I have a little faith in the Lord and a lot of help from my friends."

She looked down. "I haven't been much help, have I?" Her tears began flowing at last. "I am tied to the Wells. If I could have given it up for anyone it would have been for you. I did love you with all my heart, truly I did!" She stammered, "It was a mistake coming here! I should have listened to my head, not my heart! Oh Mountie, what must you think of me??"

I stroked her sad face with a paw and used my kerchief to dry her tears. "It wasn't a mistake, Bobo. We both feel pain at being apart, but nothing like the pain we might have shared together. Coming here settled that for both of us. You have a good life, and you've brought joy and laughter back to the old Buckwood Lodge. That's a sign that all is as it should be, and we ought to be thankful."

She nodded. "I am. Garn, you always knew just what to say. Carson and I love each other and our little girl. You had your heart set on serving Aslan, and from what I've heard you do a great job. Maybe this _is_ the best of all possible worlds."

"I'm glad for you," I said. "Glad for the three of you."

"And I'm glad for you, even if I have a strange way of showing it."

"Bobo, what's the girl's name?"

Rainbow cracked an embarrassed smile. "Olivia. Didn't I mention?"

"Can she start classes next week?"

We stood there for a moment as still as two trees in a meadow, then at some unspoken prompting we came forward and embraced. It was like old times except we were looking backwards, not ahead. For one brief, awful moment I felt envy for Carson, to have the love of this gentle creature and their little Olivia. Then my better nature reasserted itself and I was Vicar Beaverlee once more. I kissed her cheek, murmured "cheery bye" and released her.

"Next week would be fine," she said. Then she left and I shut the door behind her. Strange how much heavier it had grown since I opened it, and what a terrible sound it made as the iron latch shut.

My paws went to my face, and I felt the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. All was as it should be, and yet all good things bear a cost. That was mine. I wiped my face with the same kerchief that touched her sad countenance, and then in a frustrated show of affection, I went and got the books off the bed. I'm sure she would have approved.

***

It was my turn to knock on the door. I stood on the front stoop of the Beaverlee Lodge, waiting a few anxious moments till I heard Mum's light tread on the squeaking floorboards. What a wonderful sound.

The door swung open. I saw her smile and at once the clouds lifted.

"Mountie!" She embraced me tightly in a crush hug with her face pressed against mine. "Lunch will be done in a wink. Sit you down and I'll fix another place."

"If that's quite all right…"

"All right? You won't leave this house till you've eaten. And not a nibble but a real rib sticker."

Dad came in at the usual hour…he was as punctual as the moon and stars…and when he saw me he casually nodded at me, coming over and patting me on the back as he always did. "How was your day, son?"

"I've had better and worse," I said.

How familiar it all felt. Dad understood on a gut level that I needed a bit of what I'd lost. Bless his old soul, he always made me feel like I'd just come back from the tree house or wandered in from the fishing hole.

We sat down together as a family for the first time in a long while and I divided my attention between Mother's excellent "Simmer and Sing" stew and Father's talk about currents and rain and battling the breezers and dokie-o's at the town council meeting. The natural order had reversed and I was once again young Mountie. I half expected Buck and Bramble to "happen in" as they often did at mealtimes. A plan formed in my mind to call on both of them before the day was out. In short, I was supremely happy.

***

As we dined together, there was another knock at the door. I had a sick feeling inside, knowing somehow that it couldn't be good news.

Mother went to the door. A hare stepped in, a splendid creature wearing a red tabard with a golden seal of Aslan. He doffed his cap respectfully. "Beg pardon, Ma'am. Someone told me I would find Vicar Beaverlee here."

"I'm Vicar Beaverlee." I felt my knees go weak.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Vicar. The name's Dory Longshanks, Chamberlain to the Royal Magi. Sorry I interrupted your lunch, sir."

"Why don't you seat yourself?" Mum asked him. "I'll fetch you a plate."

"Thank you no. I've been to the Moon and Hare Inn." He looked back at me with a wondering glance, a half smile on his face. It occurred to me that Chios had spoken of Byron. I had no idea at the time how much this meeting meant to Mr. Longshanks.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, struggling to appear calm though my heart was racing.

"Yes sir. What an honor to meet you at last, though I'd hoped for better circumstances."

"What's wrong?"

"Oh sir, Mage Chios is very ill. He wants to see you and he's asked me to fetch you to Cair Paravel, but only if you've a mind to go. He said you would understand. Still, he sounded so…oh pardon me sir, but I speak out of turn."

I looked from side to side. Mom and Dad both had the same worried expression. "Well now, I had been planning to see Cair Paravel someday, but this is rather sudden." I looked to the hare. "Dory? May I have a moment alone?"

"Of course. I'll be outside."

***

I glanced over at Dad. "You know Chios. He's depressed because he's sick and he thinks seeing me again will cheer him up. You know how cranky fauns get in their old age. Garn, he'll outlive us all."

"If Aslan wills," Dad said, and not optimistically.

"Will you get to meet the King?" Mum asked in a pretext at small talk. Her paws were trembling.

"If I go, I'll tell you all about it when I get back. And I'd be right back, I promise."

Father looked down. "Son, never make a promise unless you're sure you can keep it." He sighed. "Chios said you would be the next mage when he was gone. That's a great honor, and I'd be proud of you. But Cair Paravel is so far away. It's not like a good stretch of the legs…"

"That's for the future. I may be quite old by then, if it happens at all." I glanced about. "Mum? Dad? What do you think I should do?"

Dad slipped a paw around Mum's shoulder and gave her a little pat. "When we pray to the Lord, he answers our prayers, but not always in the way we expect. I wanted a fine son that I could be proud of. You did none of the things I expected and many things I never imagined, yet you are a fine son and I am very proud of you. Listen to your heart, Mountie. Whatever the right thing is, that's what you should do. Do it without hesitation and without regrets. That's what I've always taught you, son. You did not shrink from racing Carson Beecher, and look what came of it. What do you think, son? What does your heart tell you?"

I had seen that look before, the day I came of age. I imagined he would head for his thoughtful place when I left and have a good cry alone.

I hugged Mum. "Please tell Rainbow Beecher I'll be away for a while. Don't worry about me…I'll be back before you realize I'm gone."

She held me and kissed me, trying not to show the tears welling up in her eyes.

Dad took my paw and held it tightly in both of his. He looked me intently in the eyes then the pawshake turned into a crushing hug. "Good bye, Mountie. I love you, son. Never forget that."

My father always said, "See you later" or "cheery bye." He only said "good bye" at funerals and long partings, and a chill ran through me. In a moment of panic I stared at them and the room, trying to memorize that moment in every melancholy detail as if it were my last chance. "I love you too, both of you. Always and forever." Biting my lip to keep from crying, I fetched my cap, turned and stepped through the door. My lunch—and my life in Byron on Wells—were left behind unfinished.


	33. A Beaver's Responsibility

THIRTY-THREE

A BEAVER'S

RESPONSIBILITY

Father had strong opinions and never did anything halfway. He also worked hard on long hours. Many associated him only with those traits, but there were some privileged to see what a wonderful person he was, and how deeply thoughtful he could be.

Sometimes when father would look over the sparkling waters he would sigh with satisfaction. "We're the luckiest creatures in the world," he would tell me. "We have the right to manage Aslan's rivers for the benefit of all. But with every right comes a responsibility and a beaver has several of each. Someday when you have a home and family of your own, I hope you'll remember what I taught you that you may enjoy your rights fully and bear your responsibilities well."

Though the exact wording varied, he would usually put a paw on my shoulder and admonish me, "Family is very important. Never get so wrapped up in your other duties that you forget to love and be loved. That is a beaver's greatest responsibility because love is the one treasure you take with you when you die."

***

My parents were trying to enjoy an evening at home while a "brave storm" raged outside. We beavers call them brave storms because they test your courage to the fullest.

A strong blast of lightning seared the floor with angry light and the roll of thunder shook the rafters. Dad went to the window and looked out. "By the Lion's paw, the water is cresting the dam!" He looked about, a tired look of resignation that in recent years had replaced his sense of adventure about such things. "Honey, I'm going to have to clean the spillway again."

"But you just can't," Mum said. "It's raining squirrels and nuts. You can't see your paw in front of your face out there."

Dad visibly slumped. "Do I have a choice?"

Mum's paws came together involuntarily and her lip quivered. Clearly she was on the verge of tears. She shook her head "no" because she could not bring herself to say it. She knew all too well about a beaver's responsibilities.

"I'll take the coracle out and check the weir," he said. "I shan't be an hour."

"I'll make tea," she said, little above a whisper.

"Good girl."

"With arrowroot, just the way you like it." She watched him head for the door and quickly added, "Be careful, dear."

"I will."

She saw his paw on the latch. "Your hat!" she said with a voice that bordered on desperation. "You mustn't forget your hat. You'll catch your…"

The word "death" stuck in her throat.

"I won't." Dad got his tom tucker off the peg and idly sat it on his head. Then he opened the door, looked out at the sheets of rain and back at Mum. "I shan't be an hour."

"That's what you said."

"So I did." He stepped outside, the rain beating down on him, and said, "Good bye." Then he untied the coracle and stepped in. Even though rain began to blow in with the gusting winds, it took all of Mum's resolve to close the door and block him from view.

***

With trembling paws Mum tried to light the stove. She was overcome by a sense of dread that something terrible was about to happen. Some folk call it female intuition, and while as a mage I've seen many wondrous things, few compare with the protective instincts of a doe.

"Good bye," my father had said. He always left with "cheery bye" or "see you later." Among the few rare times he'd ever said good-bye were when he gave Tory Aspinall's eulogy and when he shook my paw to wish me a safe trip to Cair Paravel. It was as if he knew something terrible was about to happen.

Mum managed to get a small flame going on the stove and went to fetch the tea canister. As she was taking its lid off, another bolt of lightning shook the lodge. She dropped the canister, which struck and knocked off one of her good porcelain cups and broke it. It was Dad's cup.

Horrified at the bad omen, she burst into tears. She ran out the door, not even bothering to close it on the way out so that it swung and battered in the wind, and hurried across the dam. There was almost no visibility out there, and anyone but a beaver…or maybe an otter…would have stumbled and fallen.

_"Horace! Horace!!"_

She drew near to the bank and saw a dark spot bobbing in the water where the spillway would be. She rushed along the shore and came closer to it. It was my father's coracle bobbing in the waves, but she did not see Daddy.

She gasped in a deep breath and let it out in a scream. Hysterically, she plunged into the water and made her way to the small skin boat. She pulled up on the side and looked in. There Dad lay balled up in the floor, clutching his chest.

"Horace!! No, please!! You can't leave me!! _You just can't!!_"

"Crystal, thank Aslan," he gasped. "Fetch Woodrow. _Hurry!_"

"Horace, I have to get the Vicar! You're out of medicine!"

"_Woodrow!_" he said as loudly as he could, his face twisted into a horrid mask of pain. "_Hurry!_"

She stood there in agony for a few moments, looking at the rising waters, the plugged drain, and her husband's helpless look of pleading. The dam was in peril of collapse, and if it burst it would be a disaster for the folk living along the waterfront. For a moment he lay there vividly depicted in a flash of lightning.

"I'll fetch him," she said. She understood that the safety of the many had to come first. That was a beaver's responsibility.

***

When Mum stumbled as quickly as she could up the long path to the Aspinalls, not an easy feat at her age even in sunny weather, she did not bother checking the lodge. She knew the clan would be outside working to fix storm damage and she was right.

Woodrow and his father Woodly were pulling brush out of the gates. It was harsh, brutal work. No wonder Horace had collapsed.

"Woodrow, come quick!" she gasped. "Our spillway is blocked."

He glanced up. "We're little better off as it is, Mrs. B. Doesn't Horace…?" He stopped when he saw her paws go up to her face. "Is something wrong with Mr. B.?"

"He loved you, you know," she said in a trembling voice, beginning to sob. "Please, Woodrow, the dam's about to burst…"

"I'll handle this mess," Woodly said. "Go, son."

Woodrow nodded. "I'll be right there." He left at once without rain gear and a hat. Helping a neighbor in trouble was a beaver's responsibility.

***

The storm was growing worse. Woodrow could barely see his paws in front of his face. Only in the occasional acrid flicker of a lightning flash could he really take in the whole scene. What he saw in those moments terrified him.

The water was beginning to crest the dam. A channel had started across the middle of the span and it threatened to burst at any moment. Woodrow grabbed Horace's saw, which was still embedded in a dead tree and began cutting furiously, a young beaver finishing what the old beaver had started.

The coracle swayed drunkenly as he balanced his urgent efforts against the need to keep upright. With single-minded determination he continued to deepen the cut that would sever the main fork and make it possible to start opening a safe channel.

There was a cracking sound from deep inside the wood. Every beaver knew the sound by heart…it was the giving way of a large timber. He was a few strokes away from victory.

Suddenly, he heard my mother's anguished scream. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His gut twisted and tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to run to her and put his arms around her. Instead he continued to saw as his tears mingled with the rain.

A few more strokes parted the wood. He could not dislodge a whole tree but he hopped out of the coracle and onto the trunk of the tree. With a tremendous wrenching he managed to dislodge enough of the branches that water began to flow through the spillway. The dam my father lived to build and died to save would not burst that night.

After a very long and strenuous hour's work, Woodrow had all of the measures in place to ensure a safe discharge of the floodwaters. The main gates were halfway opened and the water level slowly dropped. Only then could he allow himself to tend to other matters.

He emerged from the reservoir with bits of leaf in his fur, smelling of mud and stale water. He looked, as we say, like five miles of rapids. Woodrow had every reason to be proud of himself but there was no joy in his soul. He trudged toward my Mum who sat on the bank with Dad's lifeless body cradled in her lap.

Woodrow leaned down and touched Dad's still face with his paw, then kissed Mum on the cheek. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. B."

She mutely nodded.

"I'll get the vicar," he said.

"Not in the rain," she stammered. "Warm yourself by the fire. It's too late to hurry now."

It is said that the last words of the dying are special. He never got any words out after Mum returned, but his gestures spoke volumes. Dad was barely awake when Mum dragged him onto the bank, but the expression on his face was as worried as it was hurting. Mum told him that he could rest because help had arrived and at once his features relaxed. Then she took his paw in hers and said, "I love you, Horace." His eyes turned to look at her and he gave her paw a little squeeze. Through his pain he managed a weak smile. Those were his last words to her, the soft glow of a love that overcame death itself. He had fulfilled a beaver's greatest responsibility.

***

For his sacrifice, Dad was posthumously awarded the Star of Orbereth, first class and his name was entered on the Roll of Heroes. This entitled him to a state funeral and provided Mum a small stipend to buy her some extras to comfort her last years. Dad never learned to read or write well. As a testament to the respect he had from the river bankers of all estates no one ever told him he wrote his R's backwards. He did, however, have a typical beaver sense of business. His testament, dictated to an advocate, was a model of clear thinking and foresight and made the settling of the estate almost a formality. Taking care of family and sparing Mum hard decisions in the wake of his death was Dad's idea of a beaver's responsibility. Woodrow and his wife got the property including the dam and water rights, subject to Mum's right to live there in her accustomed style for the rest of her life.

While some folks use their wills to make a last speech to their family, particularly the hard things to say that bear no rebuttal, Dad had only one bit of sentiment, as strong as it was brief. "Save my ashes for Mage Mountebank. He needs a family, and family is very important."

Most beavers long to have their ashes spread over their reservoir. Having his ashes kept in an urn in Cair Paravel rather than the waters of home was the last of many dreams Dad had given up for me. Mother followed suit after six more lonely years, and both sets of remains wait for the three of us to be reunited with my brother Sam in the waters of Byron on Wells. Family, as you know, is very important.

***

Though I rarely leave Cair Paravel, my spirit still wanders the wildwoods and haunts the hills of Byron. In my thoughts Dad crosses the lake with silent oar, Buck and Bramble beckon me on to new adventures and Star regales me with her latest tall tales.

Sometimes in the newborn night, in that narrow alley between waking and dreams, I feel myself swept along the currents of desire to my far off home. I hear the shush of the waters, see the gold of autumn leaves dancing in a breeze and the sparkle of evening sun on the lake. But most of all I remember Momma. Her sweet voice would sing when she was happy. In my dreams the melody lingers and soothes my spirit, and when I lay down for that last long sleep, it will be her voice that wakens me to light and life. That will be Heaven, but till then I have my memories of Byron on Wells.

THE END


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